Tulips

The tulips make me want to paint,
Something about the way they drop
Their petals on the tabletop
And do not wilt so much as faint,

Something about their burnt-out hearts,
Something about their pallid stems
Wearing decay like diadems,
Parading finishes like starts

(part of a poem by A.E. Stallings)

I collected Tasha's ashes today, I cried, but not too hard and not too long, she is home again.