The lilac blooms I had pressed kisses from
but a day or two before
began to wilt and rust.
I meant to cut them off,
but there were too many
and though the petals had browned,
the still-green stems resisted.
In a moment I decided to let them alone —
and when I did,
when I did that
I let bygones be bygones
and surrendered something,
as beauty does in wrinkled faces,
as youth does to older graces.