The flowers started to die long ago,
back when they were picked. Their brilliant
perky smiles belie their terminal condition and,
good intentions aside, we become palliative care.
We arrange them in a vase in the sunshine, keep
their water topped up, and gradually
pull out the drooping, spent blossoms,
move them into smaller and smaller vases,
trim and re-trim their stems
until the last bloom
fades, slumps and dies.
“Flowers for me?
Thank you how lovely. I’ll get a vase.”
#182
Linda Studley 
Good one! And congratulations on reaching the halfway mark! Your creative flowers – I mean powers – certainly aren’t fading:-)
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Thanks Tony, I’m actually starting to worry about the withdrawl that might happen if I stop writing a poem a day cold turky in 6 months…. Maybe I’ll have to taper off Lol!
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It’s so true! This one touched me both in structure and emotion. I like the way the lines dwindle as the flowers gradually bow out… And also, I’m one of those peculiar people who doesn’t actually like having flowers sent to them. I’m very much: “Nice thought – but you sent me dead things”! 😉
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It’s all a matter of perspective isn’t it?
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Ack! Terrifying thought as I get ready for knee op. Okay, Linda, bring books, not poesies.
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Okay, what kinda books you like?
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