Our love has become a pot plant
We water once a week
Kept out of direct sunlight
Draught-free, contained and meek
Tidied away to a corner
Ornamental, but rather dull
Alive, but not really thriving
It can never grow to be full
Trapped inside this plant pot
Truncated and seldom seen
A fragment of the real plant
A reminder of what might have been
© Ray Mather 1999
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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