Petals

She asked me to pick up some fallen rose petals on our way back from the market, where several people had complimented her on her beautiful stripey dress. 
I could imagine her wearing something similar at 17 although I may not be around to see it.

Life is a stream 
On which we strew
Petal by petal the flower of our heart;
The end lost in dream, 
They float past our view,
We only watch their glad, early start.

Freighted with hope,
Crimsoned with joy,
We scatter the leaves of our opening rose; 
Their widening scope, 
Their distant employ, 
We never shall know. 
And the stream as it flows
Sweeps them away,
Each one is gone 
Ever beyond into infinite ways. 
We alone stay 
While years hurry on, 
The flower fared forth, though its fragrance still stays.

Amy Lowell (1874 - 1925)