Flowers

Mean so many things and yet say so little
A death, a birth, a joining of hands
A new beginning, a dying end
How do their feeble petals hold
Such depths of emotion
And such overpowering scent?

They see not the reactions of humans
Who know, who cry, who love
The flowers and the thorns
Together in unity.
How do they know how to grown
Towards a shadowed sun?

The End

169 comments about this poem Feed