They lie there, on the chipped slab
Where no one sniffs its smell
Its beauty does not rouse a talk
Since the dead can’t see and tell
Thronging the shrine of sacred stone
Each element in service of him
Endorsed with holiness unknown
They gleam with a hallowed vim
Laid with care, designed to excite
Gracing the boudoir of newly wed
Squashed, squeezed through the night
While a life begins, they are dead.
Seema Aarella
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/those-flowers/
