The Bronze Porch-Plant Allegory

Exceptionally marcescent,
Not one of its leaves ever fell—
In fall, they turned bronze but hung on

Through a harsh winter of dense snow,
And by spring, when the owners left,
And the rest of the world was green,

Their stem was dead, and they just stood,
Statuesque in their blue porcelain
On the porch for the summer guests

To ignore, more fascinated
By the corpse of the golden-crowned
Kinglet, crashed with its broken neck,

A bundle of grey and yellow
One morning on the mossy deck
By the bronze leaves, under the eaves.