Flower Time Lapse Poem by Martin Ward

3: 29
spent watching
YouTube,
like playing God,
or speeding up
my own neglect
of something
which I have left.

Slight changes
of light
betray
the secret,
or twitches
of ageing
heading
for death throws.

I can see
the whole thing
played out,
accompanied
by Muzak.

Young petals
too quickly
turn to dust.
Perhaps
I should just
brush it
under the carpet,
or keep
the memory.

It reminds
me
of the
skeletons
that I
should
have
removed
from my
garden.

Birds or worms
feed upon them.