Pretty are the yellow bulbs,
yearning to the sky,
Their eyes filled with sweet toxicity,
Nonetheless, they cry.
The warm, bright flower's golden face,
it yearns for a pretty lie.
For even as her wish is made,
The rain falls from the sky.
The flower bright and beautiful,
Warm and light to eyes,
Weeps into the thundering storm-
For it shall hide her cries.
This is bitter, Nature,
for the rain will shower still,
Shall tears roll down my face again,
Or as raindrops on daffodils?
YOU ARE READING
Birds in Glass Castles
PoetryMy collection of poems through the last few years in some of their rawest forms; more steppingstones of my journey as a writer.
