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35. Dead flowers © Bruce Goodman 8 August 2017 |
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(The poetic form selected for this month is the standard habbie.) |
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The flowers you left when I was ill Lie dead upon my window sill. The flowers are dead, not me, you dill! I’m still alive! I’ll throw them out, I think I will. They won’t revive. You left these flowers when you left me, You said our love was dead, you see, And you had wanted to be free And not enchained. I know that what will be will be But little’s gained. I hope you love the life you choose. I cook a meal and watch the News. I clean the house; don’t touch the booze. If you were here The things we hold I’d never lose. Dead flowers don’t care. |