Poetry

The Flower Child

Like the flowers in a drawing
Of a happy child
I blossomed once
For quite a while
Even the thorns
Couldn’t pale my smile
Pretty with dew pearls
I shined with sunrise.

Loved those little butterflies
Hovering around with a smile
Those squirrels nearby
Happy and content with life
In the breeze
In the light
Sun or moonshine
Little emeralds in the sky.

But it was never the sky
You were sold to soil
Dreamt of a life
In the clouds near the sunrise
When the birds soaring high
Shadowed the light inside
Too innocent to try
Dreams never die.

Roots are a funny thing
Grounds they retain
Couldn’t help me fly
I was trampled by a passerby
Little life which I had
That held my head high
Left me alone
As I drooped in sigh.