To say I'm crushed is not enough,
I'm battered, fading fast,
A stand-up rose so full of love,
But now folks look aghast...
I used to be a miracle,
A wondrous sight to see,
I used to be so beautiful,
As if pure poetry...
But when God's clouds arise in strength,
Each breeze becomes a storm,
Such that they blast across one's length
Replacing perfect form...
And so, when morning came once more,
My petals strewn about,
The passing people saw each flaw,
The truth not one could doubt...
And yet not one would tend to me,
No healing touch at all,
No tenderness, no charity,
No helping should I fall...
Disabled people saw my pain,
Yet not one offered aid,
So that I'd rise to bloom again,
To join Spring's cavalcade...
A second chance, too hard a task?
Supporting twigs and twine?
Some nutrients too much to ask?
Another chance to shine?
Another season in the sun?
Just for a month or two?
Hello, please help me, anyone!
It's so easy to do...
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2013.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem