He sits at the bus stop
In the crisp clear morning
Clutching flowers
And the hope of future smiles
Soon to be dawning

Patience and care
Are his way
The things needed
To win the day
The delivery of his gift

A moment so momentous
One to change the shape of faces
And cause a swelling
In the chest
A living metaphor of love expressed

And yet it hinges on flowers
These delicate floral towers
Scented colourful bowers
The delicate and fragile
Nothing else can transfer life’s strongest powers

David James Horn ©

3 thoughts on “Flowers”

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