The Flower's Voice

About the importance of a flower, at the grave of a man's little boy.

The flowers weep onto the ground

Endless tears of morning's dew

Yet never crying out a sound

For the person they never knew...

Their stoic forms wilt day after day

And one hour death will call for it

But until then it will watch and pray

It will not speak, nor make a fit

In getting the job of watching the boy

Who never grew up, who never saw

That life can be all that he wishes

That the world is fresh and oh so raw

But not for the man who reminisces

About the boy he lost so long ago

And how he never got to see him grow...

A father's son given a burden to carry

But not knowing what to do

How that must have been so scary

Knowing he was trying to protect you

But his strength was his death

So remember this day

That when he took his last breath

He said, "I hope you love me anyway"...

Remember your reply in the form of "I do"

And the tiny smile that appeared on his face

When you said to your son, "I've always loved you"

And the joy that it brought to stop the weary chase

Of trying so hard to make you pround...

Now you stand at his grave to lay down a fresh flower

To show how much you still care

And to prove to both him and you

That when he thinks of you there is still joy in the air

Reviews

[ashia]

This is a really heart-wrenching and beautiful poem. Thank-you for sharing your words.