The Sunflower

a ragged sunflower
at the end of the
          day
at the end of the
          summer
at the end of the
          life
of the very
          old man who
had planted it
nods its head
like a black
          star
as the sullen
dusk falls the
          dead
leaves whirl
the telephones start ringing.

By John Berbrich. The latest of many poems scattered throughout our Conversation.

Image: Sunflowers near Fargo, North Dakota (click to enlarge). To read more about sunflowers, go here.