Bouquet interruptus

Stems where they are left, to the right 
Was it a call 
To soothe the anger after a fight
Blooms so tall
Yet no fragrance the heads bowed
In grace
Each one has a unique style 
It's own face
At noon they turn to the sun.
Feeding on rays of gold
Until they bend and wither
Alas they are too old.
One by one the petals drop
Down behind the shelf
Gone by the next morn 
gathered By an elf 
To yield a seed to start a patch
The cycle starts anew.
Until the next argument
Between me and you.

Next time 
Roses please.


My part of the challenge with AlexW
http://www.blipfoto.com/entry/4120649

My directive was:
a classically composed technically perfect image accompanied by a poem.
I think that is a subjective title.

So Alex I hope you like it.