He threw a ghost against the flowers
My flowerage , I was awake
In front of his cave
He kept ornamenting me.
His passion was the lonely flush
And I tried to hide my blush
the cool corsage colouring
In there stepped a 'Crimson Tinkerer'
'Its that landscape gardener' , I muttered
He took my florist out of my heart
And I never saw him again
The red roses stopped reddening
and the primroses never bathing
I crave the silent splendid cage
Death shall bring sunflowers.
@ALCRUX
YOU ARE READING
Poetry from a Naive Quill
PoetryMusings of a teen who has a soul of a dead poet. I know that I am not a good poet yet but I want to tell my works to others. So here it is. @ALCRUX IS ME. The cover is made by @toxicpot14. She is amazing. The pics used aren't mine nor I have taken p...
