With a weed killer...
Not whacked!
We must attend our flowers,
And let them bloom.
Capture them in oil portraits,
Hung to be seen publicly
To be viewed in their lustre,
Groomed to love.
With a weed killer...
Not whacked.
The strength of those weeds
Will come back to attack.
And in the feeding those can't see,
These weeds kept fed
Produce diseases spreading,
Infecting those who breathe in...
And exhale the fumes!
Regretting but consuming reason
With remote and distant intellectuality!
The air is not as fresh as it can get!
We must attend our flowers,
And let them bloom.
Capture them in oil portraits,
Hung to be seen publicly
To be viewed in their lustre...
Groomed to love.
And influence generations!
To bloom as great.
As was meant...
Under the eyes of God!
How odd...
That with a weed killer...
And not whacked.
To fall through cracks
Where scrubs feed
and suck life!
How odd this stife
Is viewed today as picturesque!
Seeded by broadcasts,
Of encouragements lasting.
That's the only way,
Honor is gained and shared.
Mounted to be seen.
Discarding,
Agitating fuss.
Knowing and showing the beauty,
That light forever holds unspoken.
But told in whispers by those who witness...
The patience of hard work awarded!
Beauty does not grow unnourished.
It has to be encouraged,
To enhance expectations of spectators!
And with a weed killer...
Not whacked!
We must attend our flowers,
And let them bloom.
Lawrence S. Pertillar
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/expectations-of-spectators/
