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I had you once, in my hand.
You, the flower, I the man.
I looked long, I looked hard
Through the bushes of my yard.
Not all flowers are the same
Some flowers don’t have a name.
Some are squat, some are long,
Some attract birds and their song.
You, my dear little flower,
Radiated a different power.
Not quite to blossom, but on the verge
You called to me, I felt the urge
To take you into my home
Place you in a vase, your little throne.
I would care for you, until you bloomed,
Watch you with the sun, and the moon.
You have much promise, so much to share
As light bounces of your petals, you show you care.
So many dreams flood through my thoughts
Us at the table with the life we wrought.
I would make for you a special space
You could watch my life and give your grace
But As I slowly closed my fist
A shot of pain went up my wrist
It was your way of saying no to me,
You wanted to stay, to live and be free
Stuck to your bush, never to leave,
Never to share your beauty with those that grieve.
As it is always with my luck
You just weren’t ready to be plucked
A budding flower, so much to learn
One day for my table, you will yearn.
Time will pass, and so will I,
And you’ll be there alone to die
A new flower I will take.
A place at my table I will make.
A flower with thorns worn from life
Blossomed and beautiful, not afraid of the knife,
That would come and take it to a better place
One where I would make a space.
You had me once, cold and cruel
You the flower I the fool.