Four flowers on a sill,
In a room without pictures.
Nothing but a gesture,
Far from sincere.
Alone she lies in the ward,
Other patients with their loved ones.
She wonders why she stares at the flowers,
Wonders why she holds on to life.
The stones in the park hold only the future,
The words clearly engraved spell out only despair.
The fences are black and the sky’s not much better,
The tombstones are grey with Times New Roman letters.
But the flowers are blue,
Green, purple and orange.
A glint in her eye as she watches the colour,
The clock hands moves on as times passes by.
No one comes near her but still she’s not lonely,
Her family love her but they’re only flowers.
They’ll be here tomorrow with exuberant light,
And soon she’ll be restored to her natural self.
The rose in her cheeks has never yet dimmed,
The weight in her waist she finds time to bear.
The white in her hair shows only her love of life,
The flowers on the sill shows that she will always be loved.
Mumblings And Ramblings 