THE WATERING CAN AND THE FLOWER
Given the can led me to refuel the flowers,
Who in turn grew alternatively with the racing hours,
No time taken soon to bloom
For the weeds, never sparring the garden spoon
Becoming the routine chore.
Little did I know the rusty signs on show
Culminated in a large spilling hole underneath
Throwing all my input under siege.
A bond had emerged; of this Can and the flora.
Unnoticed, supplies cut, the growth rate became slower.
And slowly withered away, lifeless,
Roasted by the merciless
Sun, its red spikes poking the wretched one
Until the life-span halted, it dried out,
Startled, my eyes in akimbo only flickered hopelessly
Like a candle, struggling against the whirlwind,
Though held strongly
Nothing could stop it from being blown off-
And then Darkness –
This there upon remained with me
Inevitably still with me.
When will it take its leave, I care not
I forget not the destruction of so bright a life
With loneliness and nostalgia, the reality strife
Where memories, painted black surface each hour
Patching through the destruction of the watering can
And then the flower.
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