Sunday, July 16, 2006
The Flowers In The Vase
Alas, the vase was no place for them,
They withered, the pretty flowers.
Their heads they bowed in great agony
Not suited to this cell of ours.
There was no breeze to converse with them,
No sun to soothe their reason,
They seemed to despise us human beings
For forcing them into treason.
In spite of this they gave out a scent
That pleased everyone who was near,
Yet nobody mourned when they died at last,
Nobody was there to care.