Lilies

The lilies won’t bloom
Come spring, in our garden,
In their usual yellow,
Because I uprooted them,
To see the brown dirt,
And watch it crumble off
The roots, and see the divot,
Because the hole was good
To see, it was good hurting
Your flowerbed after you left,
Because you watched it so close,
And mothered it well, you had
A natural gift, a green thumb,
But you left them after all,
To rot away with me, but the spring
Won’t see them die, or grow either,
And maybe there’s justice in that,
Or some sense with you being gone.