Wisteria

Her car offered solace from the graveyard,
leaving her beloved there was so hard;
she was overtaken by hysteria
when her eyes focused on the wisteria.

Clusters of purple flowers on the vine
had a calming effect greater than wine;
tears ceased to flow and shaking subsided,
she took wobbly steps towards the curbside.

At the grave she sobbed her final good-byes,
bombarded with thoughts of why did he die?
Time was eternal in her world of grief,
thirty years of marriage was way too brief.

Suddenly she was in the flower store,
insisting on purchasing even more;
wisteria’s scent lingered on her jacket,
there was no need for pills in her packet.

Woody vines now cling to her weathered fence,
displaying flowers in clusters so dense;
aromas offering serenity,
a tranquil fragrance for eternity.

Every week she cuts flowers from the vine,
and takes them to his grave under the pine;
she promises him no more hysteria,
as long as they both share the wisteria.