A Flower

A Flower 
I do not fancy being a flower, 
Living for the hour 
When the sunlight meets my face. 
Reaching even higher, 
Under telephone wires 
Where I slowly end my race. 
Nuzzled in cold weather, 
Swaying like a feather– 
Plucked from this good earth. 
In Lovers’ eyes, it’s sharing 
Some unfortunate flower, tearing 
My pedals without worth. 
Cunningly I decay, 
Slowly breaking away 
Dwindling to the pitch below; 
Scattered everywhere, 
So quickly, I couldn’t care 
That I lived not long ago.

This entry was posted on Friday, September 16th, 2005 at 5:00 am and is filed under Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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