Flowers of Death

9/3/08 Title image by sa-cool http://sa-cool.deviantart.com/

One day while on a road a walking,

I heard some fellow old men a talking.

They spoke of a wondrous place,

A field of flowers bowed in grace.

 

“This place exits on yonder hill,

The last few flowers grow there still.

These flowers are a priceless treasure,

Their beauty has no earthly measure.”

 

“They blossom of sunshine,

They bloom divine.

They smell of honey,

On that hill, so fine.”

 

“So few they are,

Like fallen stars.
Their blossoms of light,

Oh, such a sight!”

 

I quickened my pace,

To see such a place.

But when I reached yonder hill,

All I saw was bare ground so still.

 

I fell to my knees in hopeless wonder,

Those foolish old men had made a blunder.

No flowers of wonder grow in this field!

No flowers had this place revealed.

 

My eyes they stung with unspilt tears,

Even now over the many years.

When I think of the hope I had had,

My heart is aches with a burden so sad.

 

Maybe, I wonder, had I been the fool?

To fall for a trick so cleaver, but cruel?

Had the men known that I had been listening,

Their tales so false but my eyes all a glistening?

 

Had they been lying about the field?

What had that place really concealed?

So I went to the field that haunted my dreams,

I wanted to know more then it seems.

 

I gaped in wonder at what I had found,

The flowers all there,

Right there on the ground.

More wondrous flowers grown in a circle round.

 

So sad that this is the only way,

For one to see these flowers gay.

The one who sees these flowers today,

Can no longer keep the hounds at bay.

 

Author's Note

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