Flower 2

Flower smiles in the morning To overthrow any mourning, Engendering the feeling That begins soft healing: Flower displays our choicest elegance, Exuding the firmest fragrance, Past striding the hellish gate into the territories of Hate: All the time too good for the hovel We’d come across in a novel. Love miserably can fail The head revealing with a missing tail, If flower should be excluded from things If things be not buoyed by its wings, On my chest to keep feeling pressure Of a degree one can’t measure, When some husband in one hides a knife And with its loveless blade kills his wife: Clearly, an unspeakable desecration, No more no less matrimony’s profanation. Now we’re pushing for the tillage Of the gardens in our village, Vowing to make it just flower or never, Hoping no anti-florist will be clever Its planters enjoying the Labor, They, considering it a favor… Flower they sight and they‘re well And when they don’t, in hell! Not a little something of psychology Being enacted without apology.