The Flowers of that Poet

An experimental poem.

 The Flowers of that Poet

 

It truly makes the beautiful horizons bloom more.

They also thought that it can only be done by ancient lore,

With his pen, paper, and imagination; he can soar.

 

Behold those little flowers dance through the rain,

They endured everything, heat and snow.

His writings are made faster than of an eye strain,

For him, no one could ever break his flow.

 

Now the poet died…

 

In the grave where I cried,

Shows the place where he lied.

 

Before his final breath, he gave me a flower.

A flower of no name that can only be seen in a land of dawn

In this land of the new world, he finally gave me his load,

His masterpiece, the flowers of the poet.

 

Author's Note

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