Mercy
by Carol Lynn Grellas
When the peonies
ask for forgiveness
they shed their petals
in the glorious sun
one at a time,
sweet as the cowbell
in the far-off field
that bows the head
from a weighty
clapper. You my dear
are the third
degree burn
that peels the skin
from a heated tongue
your voice unchaste
with a hint of chocolate-
and I have learned
the power of suffering
marooned without you
my nectar sucked dry.