SHE HATED FLOWERS

She hated flowers, and I wondered why

That was;

When diamonds less radiant

Diminished her gloom,

And she delighted in the fragrance of her favorite perfume.

She hated that they withered and faded,

I thought;

That their petals broke loose,

And they barely hung on.

She hated that they were thrown away,

With every trace of them gone.

They were delicate and fragile like her,

I’d say;

The kind of thing

She felt so undeserving of.

It’s such taxing work for the weary,

Simply to nurture and love.

She clung to her own greenness and vigor,

I thought.

Exquisite as they were,

They brought too much sorrow;

She detested caring for those that,

Would not need her tomorrow.

She was too oppressed to provide refuge,

I found.

I heard heartbreaking stories,

Where she had it rough.

She did the best she could, I know,

But it was just never enough.

She is every bit like the flowers,

You know,

Warms your vulnerable heart,

With kindness and grace;

Brings happy tears to your eyes,

And the most joyful smile to your face!

She regales like a queen, and she stuns,

I say;

And I love her,

As I do those flowers she hates!

Some have penetrable walls, you know;

She has padlocked iron gates

Author: Kyrian Lyndon

Top feature image by Hong Zhang from Pixabay 

Black rose image by Larisa Koshkina from Pixabay

Purple rose image by GLady from Pixabay 

Orange flowers image by Larisa Koshkina from Pixabay