But must I play the flower?
Dressed in wilting petals,
for I am quickly fading
but am not quite yet spent.
For you seem to find some
overwhelming joy in me
left, as though the Botanist
you are, there, and I, here,
and standing still in vase
with nothing but to play
the wilting flower that you love.
Still Light
Poetry is at least an elegance and at most a revelation.
I love the opening lines, but after line 7 I can’t help feeling that is not what you meant to write ;) Nice to have you back and Happy Christmas :) x
Thank you! and it’s hard to know what I really mean to write, but the heart knows. “) Merry Christmas to you as well, Steve!