In the field there grow lovely flowers, <br />Growing beauty, for the world to see. <br />But a gardener soon comes to cut them; <br />An arrangement in futility. <br /> <br />For all cut flowers are dead ones; <br />Killed, dragged out by the roots- <br />The bounty of earth, given all for free, <br />We treat as our selfish loot. <br /> <br />So we mark our days with dead flowers, <br />Chosen special, for the event in mind; <br />Dead carnations, for the paler dead ones <br />Who've left their wilting lives behind. <br /> <br />Dead roses for dead children, <br />For bride's whose old lives won't survive; <br />Dead boutonnieres, for bachelor's tears, <br />Who in secret for the old days pine. <br /> <br />Red roses, dead in a few days time, <br />For the harpy or the shameless flirt- <br />While everybody seeing them wonders <br />About the facts; and what's the dirt? <br /> <br />Dead flowers, from lover to beloved, <br />Dead flowers, in cold glass stand, <br />Dead flowers are our only answer; <br />It's always been the way of man. <br /> <br />Please don't give me flowers; <br />No flowers, now or ever, <br />No dying flowers, for my wistful grave- <br />To remind how long, 'forever'<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/forever-300/
