Flowers And Trees Poem by Barry Van Allen

Those flowers often swear at me,
and think that I don't know,
pretending flowers sweetly say,
which way the wind will blow.

The flowers hate when I describe,
exactly what their thoughts were,
they thought they kept that to themselves,
and yet, forgot that they were lady humans,
... somehow with me, it couldn't be,
... somehow, and somewhere else,
... that is precisely what was needed.

The flowers like to think they know,
... and truth be told, they do,
what makes a life worth dealing with,
- - - and why tomorrow seems like something new.

The flowers won't admit it,
' Cause that might mean that they are wrong,
... and maybe Violets and Daffodils,
could be something less than strong.

Spring tulips push on always forward,
then die within a month,
giving way to lasting blossoms,
that may live all summer long.

Those flowers have the confidence,
of knowing who they are,
and as a simple mirrior,
I'm a damned reflection,
... and a smile from afar.

They are the flower of the essence,
of almost every dream,
that every man has ever had,
that held any sort of meaning.

A rose by any other name,
I am told would would smell as sweet,
- - - I'm not sure that I am buying that,
while in my heart there is belief.

I know why flowers swear at me,
... because, Springtime can be rough,
open eyes, means realising that life is,
- - - nasty, mean and tough!

Weathering the storms, at times,
seems harder than it should,
- - - in fact, it is as hard as it should be,
and then those open eyes will see,
the difference in the blossoms,
between the flowers and the trees.

One is quick and easy,
and only stays for just one season,
... while the other just keeps going on,
... season after season after season!


B.V.A.