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.
