“A rose for your Lady
Sir, or a posy for your Mam,
Pretty pinks &
reds; please pick one from my stand”,
She sells tulips
of yellow suns & lupines of the sky,
Bouquets for
pretty brides & wreathes should you die.
Cold
winter-berried hollies & red roses for warm Junes,
Forever at her
flower stand, our lady of sweet blooms,
A myriad of colours,
leaves of green, petals of all hues,
The old flower seller´s
known by all, by me & even you.
Wreathed in wrinkles
& smiles, there every single day,
No matter what the
weather, she´s always there to stay,
She´s rosy cheeked
& happy & she always has kind words,
A sweetie for the kiddies
& always crumbs for passing birds.
The day dawned when
she didn’t come & wasn’t even there,
The city Plaza turned
to grey & the town looked so very bare,
Nobody knew where she
was, nor even to where she went,
From the sky petals
drifting, were from our flower seller sent.
No comments:
Post a Comment