Write it down, You fear people forget you.
You’re a garden, where children pluck roses
at daylight, singing about the beauty.
When night falls, they trip on roots they can’t see.
With the cold wind at their backs, they leave.
When day comes again, no beauty remains--
Petals and stripped stems crushed by tennis shoes.
Would you want a garden stripped of beauty?
Maybe, if flowers grew again in sunlight,
maybe children would return, laugh, and say,
“See how beautiful. See the beautiful!”
Was it not beautiful yesterday?
Lying dormant in the earth or sprouting,
know your roses will always endure here.
Growing, regrowing, roses bloom without thorns.
If you can’t see it, know you are lovely.
For the effortless way you let them leave–
your petals perfume the feet trampling you.
Alone, you wait out the night.
Even then, you are lovely.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:35 PM UTC
Write it down, You fear people forget you.
You’re a garden, where children pluck roses
at daylight, singing about the beauty.
When night falls, they trip on roots they can’t see.
With the cold wind at their backs, they leave.
When day comes again, no beauty remains--
Petals and stripped stems crushed by tennis shoes.
Would you want a garden stripped of beauty?
Maybe, if flowers grew again in sunlight,
maybe children would return, laugh, and say,
“See how beautiful. See the beautiful!”
Was it not beautiful yesterday?
Lying dormant in the earth or sprouting,
know your roses will always endure here.
Growing, regrowing, roses bloom without thorns.
If you can’t see it, know you are lovely.
For the effortless way you let them leave–
your petals perfume the feet trampling you.
Alone, you wait out the night.
Even then, you are lovely.
National Poetry Month Day 30. (More like 40 days but......FINALLY.)
