Eight Flowers

Autumn comes and goes and soon the flowers die No Honeysuckle to last as the cold encroaches on her Down the hillside she use to grow but wilted stalks now lie Not to rise again ‘til spring so winter’s wind cannot shiver On the side of a rock stood a shy little blossom hidden While their name depicts their heart, poor forget-me-nots If they could even just once have one kind word given All the same they wait to be seen as their little spirit rots So many times you try to get close to this beautiful one Cold and distant rose who’s beauty tempts many a hand to pluck And yet the thorns from her sides wound all who dare come Now the wounded hands in spite toss her in the muck Take a look at the simpler primrose in her many shades Soft petals dancing in the whispering breeze Today she feels alone in her crowd lost in the haze Only for those around her does she dress to please Perhaps the chrysanthemum is more to your taste Buried inside her many lushes petals you cannot see her heart Every glance you cast spies only the petals which soon will waste Can you glimpse an understanding of her unique part And somewhere in some lush field is a crowd of its own That of the bluebells who cluster as close as relations Usually there is a peace among their ranks shown So they are welcome among even foreign nations Even though she stands in innocence before you Eventually this daisy will be laid upon a grave Very mark of beauty does in death mark also true Each good she does is manipulated to a wrong road paved Now that which embodies peace is that found in chaos too It is the simple lotus on the simple pond hovering above unknown waters For each who meditates on her goodness finds truth new Goodness above hides the mess beneath of the tangled rooted daughter Only of flowers have I spoken here? Do not those precious souls whom stand around For their own hearts in this world fear Or are flowers just flowers left not yet drowned Real world experience teaches better Go and look to see those humble flowers In each girl who by their fears and concerns find fettered Very much chained by their deep hidden towers Each holds their secret locked in the top room So whether pain or joy locked away Many miss seeing the inner gloom Every tear hidden behind a smile for their sins to pay Precious souls who you don’t see Each one a treasure who seems themselves wanting Only if they saw the beauty in the pain like me Poor minds themselves are taunting Little else is wrong but the self-abuse Each thought or drawn wound to mark their mind When will they see they need to set themselves loose? Only the past serves to give them motive not surrendering to time Now these little flowers wilt so readily ‘Til some bystander helps them to themselves steady