Do the Flower Gardens Know?

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Do the Flower Gardens Know?



Do the flower gardens know

The pain of a flower, 

When the frost bites deep, and the petals curl,

Do the roots beneath feel the shiver of the world?

Does the earth itself mourn the broken stem,

Or is it just the passing of a delicate gem?

What do the veins know, the veins of the stem sing.

Beyond the pulse, beyond the crimson flow,

A hidden rhythm, only they truly know.

Of long-held memories, of joy and of fear,

Whispers of lifetimes, held ever so near.

The silent currents of life's intricate art,

A wisdom residing deep within the heart.


The flowers bloom and again bloom,

The flutes of the reed bamboo sing.

A symphony of green, a vibrant, soft sound,

As sunlight descends on hallowed ground.

But not seeing the heart of the garden,

I planted a rose Barbra Streisand bush, 

For a yearning I held, a vision untrue,

Seeking a beauty I thought only it knew.

The tears fell and the honey blossoms bloomed in a single flower.

A sweet defiance in that mournful hour,

From salty grief, a new hope takes flight,

A fragile perfection, born of darkest night.


Each drop a promise, a soft, fertile plea,

For life to continue, wild and free.

Before you smile, I will tear you apart, flower,

The hands of the maiden who gave you the pearls and the garlands yesterday.

Her laughter now echoes with a chilling decree,

The fragile illusion of forever, set free.

The delicate bonds of affection untwine,

As beauty gives way to a shadowed design.

What was cherished and loved, now faces its end,

A fleeting moment, that none can defend.

For even the gentlest touch can betray,

And yesterday's blessings are gone with

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