I am
Not a lover of flowers
I think they’re fragile similar to glass
Suddenly they are gone, bruised, cracked
Those pennies wasted on crumpled petals
Will not last seven days of pleasure and grief
No flower remains fragrant forever
No tulip, no rose, no blossom
Be left home, only memories
Like grandmother’s flowers,
And a crown for Mary.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem