Tag Archives: flowers
I thought to tell you the way I feel
But knew I didn’t know how,
So I send these flowers to show instead
I hope they’ll do for now
This flower I send to show my love,
A coral rose to show my desire
Your name is now across my heart,
The only one that I admire
The pink carnations I give to you,
To show I will never forget you
I love you now till the end of time,
I know I will forever be true
To show you this I spend lemon blossom,
So you know to trust in me
For now our hearts are forever entwined,
We will always be
The last flower for you my love,
I send to show your loveliness
The camellia is just for you
From the angels watching above us.
A shriek from the realms of the heart
echoes within the veins
Swiping aside the sweet melody
breathing the saddened symphony….
Bruises unseen felt when touched
respire through the open wounds
The salve to soothen the lesion
Has vanished in the gloom…
Words of comfort ne’er
Calm the ache,
as a sojourn
can ne’er blossom flowers
on a dying barren state…
There’s a grassy slope not far away
Where thousands of Narcissus bloom,
And I catch my breath, as I watch them sway
Tossing their sweet perfume.
Gaily they nod their dear little heads
And smilingly welcome me,
As they spring up fresh from their winter beds,
Eager for company.
Their round white faces fair and clean
Are purer than frost or snow,
And I thank the hands, tho’ now unseen;
That planted them, long ago.
-NORA MC FARLANE
The old man with his walking stick
Descended down the hill,
With a handful of flowers
And a greeting in his hand.
As he took a stroll across the valley,
He was reminded of the time he had left behind,
In midst of this market’s hurry back then
He had met her for the very first time.
With a small smile on his face,
He moved ahead to find the altar
Where he along with her, made their vows
To be together forever and ever.
The memory had made his eyes turn moist
As he holds on to the wedding ring on his hand,
He loved her like no other
And now he was all lost like no other.
Walking past the gates of the cemetery
Till he reached the stone in the green corner,
Placing the flowers and the greeting,
He wished “Happy Anniversary, sweetheart”.
R. Roopesh Kumar
There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
“Shall I have naught that is fair?” Saith he;
“Having naught but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again,”
He gazed at the flowers with tearful eye,
He kissed their drooping leaves;
It was for the Lord of Paradise
He bound them in his sheaves.
“My Lord has need of these floweretsgay,”
The Reaper said, and smiled:
“Dear tokens of the earth are they,
Where he was once a child.”
“They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.”
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love:
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
‘Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU
It was never hearts and flowers.
We didn’t work that way
Our time was stolen
And half promises
Were made to each other.
I cannot speak for her
But I think we loved
Certainly played a part
I wanted us
To be real
I think it could have been
If she allowed
To let go
Ever so slightly.
Moments of beauty
By soundtracks of her choosing
Those strings are now
Played for her
Whenever her scent returns from memory
Watering the flowers
No sun in sight
Staying in tonight,
To miss the raindrops
Staying longer in the shops
Cold feet and hands
Where people stand
Waiting for the rain to ease,
Catching colds in the August breeze
So much power
Flooding to come
It’s raining again,
I came across a cottage,
That stood amongst some trees,
And smoke from the chimney,
Was being fanned by a gentle breeze.
The cottage fire was burning,
You could see it through the door,
The sweet smell of burning logs,
From the stack upon the floor.
The crackle from the fire,
It looked so very warm,
The old man tends his garden,
In clothes all ripped and torn.
In a rocking chair a sweet old lady sits,
With hair of silver gray,
Sunrays peeping through the trees
On this summer’s day.
The garden decked with flowers,
With primroses round my feet,
The birds they were singing,
They sang so very sweet.
The smell of new made bread,
That carried on the breeze,
Little animals playing in the sun,
As they dart amongst the trees.
A scarecrow in the field stands,
To frighten away the birds,
It was a picture that I saw,
So I put it into words.