As I watch the dew on my flowers dry.
I sit upon the grass and wonder, why?
Why are flowers so beautiful and gay?
Why more so at morning than by midday?
Why is their number so great in size?
Why are only some regarded as ďa gardenerís prizeĒ?
Why are some scents lovely, and others disgusting?
Why are these scents either timid, or busting?
Why do I wonder, why do I ask?
I suppose I should get back to my gardening task.
I like to ask myself such questions just to pass the time.
What answers can you come up with, for my little rhyme?
The mussings of an odd teen,
|Posted: February 22, 2005 |
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