A flower, lonely stands,
Along the path I walk.
It waits, it waits.
It grows, it blooms.
It burgeons, it gives fruit.
It withers, it dies.
I never noticed,
Or maybe did not care;
It’s just another flower,
It’s just a flower.
But, it’s my flower...
And now its dead.
And I never got to know
Its scent.
-
Author:
Joakim Bergen (
Offline) - Published: January 28th, 2023 11:21
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments1
An intriguing take on our relationship to the little things going on around us--whether it is a flower, or maybe even another person! We ignore so much...
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.