A Poem for my Deceased Dendrobium

You have died
in the manner which
all orchids come to die,
mysteriously.
The slender reed-branch
of your stem
pleated and puckered
so I watered you more;
your leaves began to flag and
yellow, so I watered you less,
and even that was not enough.
Your skeletal remains,
still longing in their pot,
remind me
in a hushed whisper
from a corner of the house
which was apparently not suitable
for your presence;
"I'll never tell."