Flowers of my love
I gave to him that day
They held beauty, they held awe
And they willed him to stay.
I once praised these flowers
For we, it seemed were freed
But as we aged
They were nothing more than weeds
But to our ignorant eyes
The weeds still had beauty
Take care of them we must
It seems to be our duty
The flowers we had praised
Enclosed us that day
And though we wanted out,
We had not choice but to stay
Inside my overgrown life
There's one thing to be said
To your love, you mustn't lie
Or your flowers will soon be dead
YOU ARE READING
Odd poems by none other than me
PoesiaA weird poem written by me. Don't ask, I won't know.
