Seeds Of The Morning Glory

Walking down the street,

I see it seeping through the cracks

Poking through his satin coat,

And falling from his slacks 

Eyes distant, his rounded pearls,

Sewn with shimmer and grime

There he steps out from the rain,

Droplets pricking down his spine

His skin of beaten leather,

Shivering from the rush

Ask him of the Morning Glory,

I fear it would be too much

The seeds will feed his hunger,

That which he can not break 

Oh, sickly like a wilting flower,

I fear it’s much too late 

Walking down the street again, 

Though the bitter winter pass

Petals scattered about the ground,

His glory didn’t last