Cerise
Oh my dear Cerise,
Though your tear ducts stain blue,
With the petals you pluck,
Singing faint words of 'He loves me not',
As the flower wilts in your hands.
Dear Cerise don't cry,
As they crumble and dust in your hands,
You spread that pollen in your step,
And behind you blooms the very same flowers.
But my dear Cerise I know you are tired of walking,
You long to see a garden you haven't grown,
And you long to hold different flora.
My dear Cerise don't cry as you grow your garden,
And paint the grass in bright vivid pinks.
Cerise, don't falter as you hold your flowers and hand them to another,
The flowers may find themselves placed in a pot,
Or vase,
And linger for a day or two.
But with the warm floral scent,
And it's pretty colours,
Come that precious need of water and love.
My dear Cerise don't cry as your flowers die,
When those flowers lack that water and love,
When your garden becomes a graveyard.
My dear Cerise don't cry,
As you feel their stems break,
For with each flower you give,
A smile breaks on their face.
Cerise,
One day someone will care for that flower the same way you would.
Cerise,
Don't worry about the future,
And the tenderness that comes,
For your flowers bring the love you crave,
And your garden says you are loved because you are love.
Copyright © Toby Adams | Year Posted 2024
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