He set an Easter lily on her stone Then watched as windy rain Toppled it against her grave He staked it up with chopsticks Found somewhere in the trunk Then watched her while it fell again Bending low, he tried the vase Set three years now in the ground The lid stuck hard against his will He struggled, then he moved it The way of perseverance But the potted lily would not fit His wife of sixty-one years Waited while he thought She knew his process well He poked a stick down through The pot and nailed it to the ground Then he stood and waited The lily bent and fluttered The chopstick held its ground And he’d done what he could