The Morning After
The Lodging-house Fuschias
Mrs.Masters's fuchsias hung
Higher and broader, and brightly swung
Bell-like, more and more
Over the narrow garden-path,
Giving the passer a sprinkle-bath
In the morning.
She put up with their pushful ways,
And made us tenderly lift their sprays,
Going to her door:
But when her funeral had to pass
They cut back all the flowery mass
In the morning.
Thomas Hardy(1928)
Such a sad allegory.
How often do folk take care of our fuchsias when we are no longer protecting them?