POEM: Flowers Cut

I set before you these flowers
For your reflection and edification
These flowers were cut from my yard
A yard not unlike the two yards that will cover us all some day
Some may say that cutting short the lives of these flowers is wrong
But what do I say to this?
That the greater danger is cutting our own lives short
For it is much easier to harm ourselves than to harm another
Unlike most flowers and most of
This flower lives in the city
Most flowers and most of
Are as as they are unseen by human eyes
But these flowers, these city flowers
Go largely unseen, even as so largely
People pass by, out of their minds
Racing to that whose cannot compare
Neither flowers nor require our attention
But, ahhhh, the is all sufficient
So, if I have cut short the of these city flowers
By some few days such is
Pardon my offense
And help me repay such expense
With such they briefly impart
Not unlike this poem
Which from the will soon depart
Let such replenish the of your
And prepare you for every worthy start

The beginnings of this poem struck while I was taking a walk late yesterday afternoon.  I was to go to an Occupy General Assembly meeting early that evening, and I decided to take some cut flowers from my yard.  I it when the strikes!  It is a glorious curse of the to pay homage to the moment when strikes.  Having a where I’m able to do this brings me incalculable joy.  Some may say that I have too much on my hands, but I certainly don’t have a watch on my wrist, or a cell phone in my pocket.  Anyway, to the calculating chronologist, we all have the same 24 hours each day.  Poets know better, I say in all humility, or rather awe.  While many of us live a similar amount of time, in terms of times our is beating and there are waves in our brain, there are simple and great differences in how well we live that time.  I am partial to the given by the late Will Rogers in saying, “May you live all the days of your life.”

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