I always grew flowers for death
hoping he would show
I searched the flourishing woods
Through the green trees,
up on the highest peak,
But he never showed
So I just chose to work myself to sleep
The days flew by
The months went came and went
But I still continued to plant flowers for a man I've never seen with my own eye
One night he showed up at the foot of a burnt tree waving with his bony grin
I ran up to him flashed him a smile and whispered "I win"
He simply started to laugh
As I allowed the tree to bloom
He looked at me with his mysterious eyes and replied "I love to lose to you"
YOU ARE READING
A Poet's Dictionary
PoésiePoetry: literature that evokes a concentrated imaginative awareness of experience or a specific emotional response through language chosen and arranged for its meaning, sound, and rhythm.
