My Words

Understanding the World through words

Tag: flowers

Before It’s Too Late-Poem

Tell your loved ones
everyday that you
love them.
Make sure you
say these things
while they’re alive.

Bring them flowers,
write them notes,
never feel ashamed
of random acts of love.

The grave will steal
opportunities and
it will be too late!

The dearly departed
will never need what we can
do for ours while
they’re still breathing
here on Earth.

Mid-Life Crises-Poem

The five day old tulips are
magnificent,
a true mid-life crises.

In-between
coquettish beauty
and the wilting
that inevitably appears.

A visual promise that
defiantly says—
yes to life.

selfish flowers





Rhythm y Mucho Mas



each flower



Bouquet Of Flowers



Color

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New Flowers

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You said to me, “that the past is all I have.”

I responded:
Memories are like fragrances
We never forget.

I look forward
To smelling new flowers
I haven’t smelled yet.

There are beautiful gardens I haven’t strolled through.

A wise man said,
“Life has more to offer than you’ll ever know.”

Flowers For Me

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Recently-I received
flowers from my wife.

I don’t get them often,
though I love them, they
remind me of life.

I’m attracted to
the brightness of
the colors,
the forms,
the intricacies
and scent
of the petals.

The ones I got
for Fathers Day-
are white with red
tips roses.

Roses the queen
of flowers, I once
planted a bunch.

I proposed in my
heart to plant
a rose garden-
some years back.

I told my loved
one, that flowers
would never be
missing from our
home.

We have since moved
from that house.

Though every sabbath
I try my hardest
to remember to
decorate our
table with flowers.

The ones I have
are now
fading.

Still beautiful but
slowly losing their
youthful beauty.

when I look
at them, it’s
like looking
in the mirror.

Like A Thief

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Behind my house
my neighbor
delicately
tends her garden.

Her labor and
yearly dedication,
to grow lovely flowers
brings me sensual joy.

The rich pink
blossoms and
ruby red roses—
framed by a
yellow lemon tree,
from my back window
every morning—
in a voyeuristic
fringe—
thoroughly
captivates my
imagination.

How can I deprive my senses?

I can’t—I steal
glances,
like a common thief,
enjoying them
as my own.