Cut delicate as ash, wide yellow star,
Like paper curved in fire and yet not burned,
Its joined petals open (over the broad leaves turned),
Curl curiously at noon (ringed with irregular
Tendrils circling at the stem), flower
And fold at evening, taking their later shape.
Coiled, lined with soft green, the blossoming crepe
Assumes direction, even changes color,
In mockery of the comic orange gourd
For which it curves, opens, folds, and falls.
For the flower, which seems to know its fruit, though whole,
Perfect, and valid as the gross melon stored
Beneath damp yellow petals, must give way
To the great pumpkin by the close of day.