Where the Flowers Die
WHERE THE FLOWERS DIE
Beyond the fence we shouldn't go,
not even look, if we're alone,
nor see some things we should't know.
My innocence has died, although,
I'm still the child I've always known,
and hide the me I want to show.
Out of this wasteland, what can grow,
where only dust has ever blown,
too where, we never even know.
The Golan seems an empty show
the yellows, browns of rock and stone,
where we must make some flowers grow???
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet
Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015
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