With life and limb risked climbing <br />thirty feet up the cottonwood tree <br />to gather first offerings <br />to charm my first girlfriend: <br />Announced a template <br />for the rest of my life- <br />a dreamer, a romantic. <br />I'd plucked dozens of fine branches, <br />clustered with green seeds, <br />neatly arranged near the swing set. <br />Cottonwood pearls, <br />What better proof of my love? <br /> <br />I don't imagine Molly ever saw <br />things my way, treasuring <br />true romance in that trove <br />of early summer's gems- <br />she quietly shook her head, <br />'What was he thinking? ' Or, <br />'No way to treat a princess.' <br />Unbridled, an eight year-old's <br />Love burst, never to blossom, <br />or so I thought as I watched <br />Molly walk away in a shrug. <br /> <br />The next day in summer's heat, <br />the blessed things bloomed, <br />lying apart from their host: <br />My dying love, sinking heap <br />of cotton-puff clouds strewn <br />amongst criss-crossed branches, <br />lying forlorn, never taking root <br /> or to be held and praised- <br />leaves losing their luster, <br />thin hearts wilting in the sun. <br />I hauled them into the alley. <br /> <br />Fickle flowers of childhood <br />destined me to disguise <br />rejection and hurt, couched <br />in wistful smiles and poems. <br />Within this feigned lament, <br />even as I gaze and write, <br />I climb <br />hand over <br />fist, now <br />reaching <br />for the <br />sky.<br /><br />Phillip Michael Sawatzky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fickle-flowers/
