Unravished

The flower wilts in the early morn

Mere weeks before the cool winds had laid to rest

Their harsh and demeaning attacks on the fields of green.

Rolling hills and meadows come alight as the landscape blooms,

As the sun runs away, as the white innocence is lost to the pelting rain.

The paths are lined with wild tulips, pollinated by the roaming bees,

Allowing their seed to fall, drift and sway,

Gifts given to mothers on a December's eve.

Ravenous roses plucked from the long, stiff stems

And, standing alone, the thorns, at last, are noticed.

The geranium, the daffodil, they too receive their fill.

Sweet Daisy, however, drifts toward the horizon,

Shaft limp, leaves shriveled. Lost is the lust of the afternoon,

The dripping sweat, the glistening droplets, the delicious nectar

That her pedals crave. 

Reviews

[OT]

ah very nice Brad!! strong descriptions, well woven imagery, I like the "innocence is lost to the pelting rain" - only suggestion would be to lose some of the articles, as it would give it a quicker flow (for me anyways) - like "ravenous roses plucked from the long" - would read the same without the "the" but would make it a little smoother perhaps!! nice stuff!!

[Cerebriation]

Nice! This paints a beautiful picture. I love seeing imagery in poems, and you did a great job with this one.

[Dushyant Thadani]

Interesting work man. Just the flow you've given to this work is amazing, and clean. Just love this work. Great job.

[Alice]

This is beautiful. I like the first sentance, how it keeps going, not letting you pause. It just sounds great. Thanks.