when i see flowers i think of you
purse your lips and perhaps you smile
there is no distance beyond the hour
the hour that comes unmindful of season and time
this flower whose name i do not know
yet it sits right by my sitting room’s window
and amid its cloak of silken unbending leaves
bursts forth in colour of hue intense and pure
there is no uncertainty in its lines
no murmur of may i or if you please
they curve and flow as if they seem to know
which way lies the pathway to the sun
i see them beyond the glass a little hazy
against the light and i wonder again
what is their name and i think of you
when i see flowers i think of you
after the flowers is the flyover
the cars are constant their noise kept out
by two layers of glass, are there secrets within
do the flowers bend close to eavesdrop
they bud and they bloom and before one’s gone
another comes by, a closed little nub of colour
that won’t be denied let there be secrets or flyovers
or even against the light
the petals are soft never bending though
the way they hold themselves nobility there
when i see flowers i think of you
the hour that takes is constant perhaps
but the flowers they remain
Had a Jane Austen feel to it Indi di. Looking out from the sitting room window at flowers that won’t be denied their sudden bursts of colours.
that’s a nice way of putting it. sometimes, when you cut out all the noise and let something catch your eye, all sorts of feelings pass through you. jane austen, i wonder what her world was really like…maybe there was time for repose in it, time to blossom.
How beautiful Indi.Made me smile. Love this little pretty world where one can get lost in. ?☺
thanks, durga, sometimes i think i do wish to get a bit lost… glad you enjoyed.