In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

    That mark our place; and in the sky

    The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

    Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

        In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

    The torch; be yours to hold it high.

    If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

        In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

 

Wild flower…one more day

Wild flower where have you gone

rubish rose 4

So, the dusty days have left to rust…

City-scapes and country abodes…there shall be but one left.

Lonesome only knows it when you have been missed

Lonely only without your yards of yarns of indigo

bits and pieces, fragments of summer’s play.

Oh, but I know the truth

Frayed petals covering your indifference to being beautiful…

just for today.

Wild flower, wilting with humor, in and out of bronze.

Wild flower, a jesting rose with thorn.

You are but a passing fancy to the masses

To me, a wishful hope, to stay until my day is last.

Wildflower, you and I, selfish indeed.

Wanting comfort from your bed.

The lovely smell of humanity has escaped into the countryside

The desperate taste of gluttony has taken our pride.

Wildflower, where will you go?

Perched in lavender

nestled in flowering indigo…

Aster and Golden Rod

Poppies and Mum

Shun me not

Hold me in your delicate day of floral dawn

I pray to you….no harm

Though you may grow anywhere

Bountiful in untamed beauty

Rich with the darkest depths of earth’s despair.

Walk with me one more day

rubish rose 1 rubish rose 2

Walk with me…

come what may.