Joakim Bergen

Picked A Flower

I picked a flower.

Twas a lonely flower,

That grew on a wide asphalt plane.

 

It was sickly pale,

That rose I picked yesterday.

 

I put it in my dollar store vase.

Oh, how it glows

At nighttime.

My little Moon,

Bent and withered;

In solemn elegance,

It brings winds of Summer

Thru the midwinter snow,

On sleigh of memories;

I reminisce of times long gone.

 

I had a garden once.

It’s withered now;

Twas many years ago

That it hosted all my flowers;

Daffodils

Lilies

Tulips

Orchids and irises.

Yet, I never had a rose.

 

But now,

At dusk,

 It stands before me;

How fragile her petals

How cruel her thorns,

Oh, hows she imbibes

The Moon-dew drops!

She is Spring and Summer,

She weaves strings of light;

Hangs them in the midnight sky!

And then - she dies.