A plant of the yellow,
One time staring at it feels mellow,
The petals are as bright as the sun,
Put the attention on the run.
One time it dried,
One time it bloomed,
Most of the time it grows,
Outgrowing beyond the bowl.
Sunflower, the pure thought it means,
The delightful brimming,
As the language of flower spoke,
It begins the stroke.
Innocence of the feeling,
Guilty for the ignorance,
Sunflower warms the hots,
They, too, calm the broads.
—AF
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From The Diary of Heart: Magnificent Us
Poetryx COMPLETEDx Poetry Book I What does it mean to have an illustration of words mapped out in your books? Poems? Flowers? All the words that needed to step into the lights. Feast your eyes and souls with the collection of my poems that I wrote in a wh...
