The shoots now they were bright, succulent green
growing everywhere and everywhichway
too soon, always too soon
they flower themselves to death
grow brown leaved
scrawny
pathetic
get tossed into the garbage one day
their pot kept
or not
the season passes
as all the seasons have before
and will again
they surround me in pictures
taunt me from memories
the ever gathering dead ghosts
all shoots and flowers once
tossed now
soon to be erased even from the memories of the livingTHOU SHALT NOT STEAL THE WRITINGS OF JOHN SCOTT RIDGWAY... YOU CAN EASILY GET PERMISSION FOR A NON COMMERCIAL REPRINT BY CONTACTING MY EMAIL.
Friday, September 16, 2005
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