Analysis of The Cutting

There was a flower cutting
over the sink
last morning
Drawing life
from careless spills.

From the wasted motions
of thoughtless strangers
As with a salve
its’ cut was healed.

I wonder if that
bud will blossom
or that fine mesh
of roots
will ever grow strong?

I wonder if ever
it will offer cuttings
to some gardener
of its’ own?

Someone’s left his fancy
there
forgot awhile
the rebirth
he was called to tend.

I’m ashamed to leave it
without offering a prayer
that the one
who gave it purpose
comes for it again.