Poetry on Friday

I came across this poem recently and it reminded me of my mother-in-law. I do the same sort of paring down with bouquets, and I'm sure many of you do also, so I'm sharing this poem with you today. 

Bouquet 
by Tadeusz Dąbrowski

Paulina, the gardener's daughter, cares

about flowers doomed to die.

If I bring her a bouquet, she frees it

from the ribbons and gently places it in the hospice 

of a vase. When the flowers weaken, she trims their stems

and plucks off their wilting leaves. She takes

the dead ones to the compost, from the rest

she forms a new bouquet. Thus disappear in turn:

poppies, anemones, carnations, damnations, and

forget-me-nots, until finally all that's left are

gypsophila and Judas' pennies. Paulina,

the gardener's daughter, sees a bouquet in the vase

even when it's not there anymore.

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Translated from the Polish by Antonia Lloyd-Jones

You can read more about the poet here.

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I wish you mindfulness, peace, flowers and bouquets along with some poetry as the week winds down.