Further revisions. changes shown in italics - cuts in brackets
I am dead-heading sunflowers
[Their[ heads bowed by their weight
Like guilty [children] kids, [but] though my height and more.
[Though] But these are not as humans, for
They are grateful for the loss:
With each snip of secateurs
The stem springs [up and] straight, relieved.
The great saucers, now old and black with seed
And rough to touch
Fall on the soft earth [/ or with a clump into my bucket]
Each one a giant pocket watch
Whose petals mark the minutes and hours
In faded gold. Here too
[(Are)] Mexican sunflowers toss their heads
Piercingly red against the blue
From which, miraculously, new line
The clouds have fled.