Not even the warmth of the day
Could even dent their soft glow, the
Crimson red flooding through
The meadow, waving gently in the breeze
Not even the song thrush or nightingale
Could sing of their beauty. Only the
Hearts of mankind are warmed by
By their delicate shape and colour.
They stand in the stillness of the day
Waiting, waiting, their long stalks
Standing to attention as we, mere
Onlookers, gaze at their beauty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Even King Solomon was not adorned like these flowers. They add color and beauty to the world. I love them any kind of way, artificial, dried or silk or live. Enjoyed this write.