FLOWERS
Oh my flowers weathered! Oh my flowers, dead? Their yellow turned to ancient gold Their petals curling, inward fold.
With brittle stalks that crack, They bend their blossoms back Toward the ground from whence they came; Entropy’s most beautiful claim.
I wish that you had not Upon arriving brought Flowers; I least needed color As you were walking through the door.
I’d rather you’d waited Til our time was sated— Given them now as you depart To keep your memory in my heart.
HAPPY WORLD POETRY DAY EVERYONE.
littlemissaudrey reblogged
Wise words. Grumblemuffins, take note.
Everyone wants a bouquet with meat in it at some point in their lives, I'm sure.
littlemissaudrey reblogged
The Paris Inner City Little Belt Railway Abandoned since 1934. .
Someone put highlighter fluid in with these cut flowers' water supply, and then put them under a black-light. Pure, beautiful genius.