I’ve had this single stalk of forsythia on my desk for several days now, as I found it hanging loose on the bush and thought I might as well cut it off and put it in water.
The flowers were still tightly closed when I brought it in, but I expect they will start to drop within the next day or two.
Each time I look at it, the phrase ‘stars on a stalk’ comes to mind.
It doesn’t strike me as the sort of phrase I’m likely to use in a poem, so it may as well be noted here along with the photo just to brighten things up a bit.
don't confuse the narrator 