A curious thing, gives us our power.
Always there, it's never far nor sour.
On Irish shore or Cornish moor,
Flowers bring life to surely endure.
The flowers grow in colour and size.
Drawing out your butterflies.
Natural the flowers grow,
Dancing through your woodland meadow.
On plastic shores the flowers grow.
Blooming from the seeds we sow.
Yet on my shore I do now see,
Plastic flowers from a crying sea.
YOU ARE READING
Polymeric Rhapsody
PoetryA collection of poetry about my adventures in a plastic sea. #wattys2019
