Florist Lady Poem by james watkin

Florist Lady



Round-faced youth, bloom to bloom
Fixed, attentive.
Invited by me or not
Pause; stepping out, hot to trot
Your quaint shop's hive.

If not causing to swell
Teary, your eye
I fear will sour, embittered
Though sunned, this view, re-entered
World's. Dulled. Awry

Friday, December 2, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: beauty,world
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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