Little Suns

There are chrysanthemums

On the concrete stoop outside,

A gift I love—I miss the

Yellow flowers like little suns, 

Which have been extinguished.

Leaves are dried from summer,

Frostbitten by pale snow,

But there are still spots of green

Close to the hard soil, protected by

Brittle stems that have fully lived.

I don't think of its death when

I see the remaining deep green.

It doesn't care about the cold.

And soon when the ground softens

And the leaves are full,

The little suns will return.