To the flower. – Jeni Bate

To the flower.

I’m sorry,
that had to be incomprehensible pain
to be ripped from your plant
just when you were blooming
hoping for bees
to fertilize
to make seeds, a future.

But he plucked you I know,
doing it in love
of your beauty,
of me,
of the day.

He brought it with hearts in his eyes
one sunny morning
wanting nothing but to make me smile.

I talked to him later,
asked that next time he bring a photo,
leaving other flowers where I like them,
still on the plant.

He said he’d plucked you from a patch of your family
like a field of orange,
the world might not miss just you.

Then perhaps you can forgive him,
of your kind there were so many
and of him, that man,
and the love he has for me,
there is only one.

Published by grumpygorman

I am a Social Worker by day and an artist/writer by night. I use the written word in an attempt to make sense of the secret worlds and dysfunctional dynamics that lurk beneath the facades of our daily interactions. I am not sure how my writing styles are characterized, nor am I overly concerned about it. I am immensely enthusiastic about music and often connect better with songs than I do people. I also have an intense appreciation for quality wines and whiskies, frequently consuming them in excess. I like things that smell good and struggle to manage the symptoms of a life-long relationship with depression. So, why "grumpygorman"? Spend some time here and find out...

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