Smell the roses

A flower blooms, needing the sun
It stretches its neck toward the one
Drinking the light
Loving yet loathing
When can I drink?
It proclaims, as comfort sets in
A cloud bursts rain
Delightful it exclaims!
Is there more to life than this that remains?
As darkness falls it bemoans the sun
Who shies away when dawn comes,
As it sits under clouds it cries
Is there naught I can do?
To receive my due?
Wherefore art thou oh sun?
But life delivers and answers
Were you not here when I’d done?
Would that you ever grew, such as you are
Now done.
Into the mist of history now run…
Though likely rejoiced by none!
 

-- Tom Walsh

Top