Flowers Turned to Grey

The vase of flowers had already
withered and browned,
far away from the ground
where they had been picked.

Thinking of home,
instead of porcelain surroundings
they displayed only inklings
of the beauty they had once shown.

They used to be the bright spot
in an otherwise crowded street,
decorations near peoples feet
when someone snapped an impromptu picture.

now, only to serve,
as one old mans joy in the morn’
and to feel the unending scorn
of those who didn’t understand their history.

For the old man had picked them
when he was but a boy
as a last minute ploy
to impress his only beloved.

He had no ring to give,
only the words and a bouquet
as well as the short time he had spent to pray
that she would say yes even in poverty.
Which she did.

Now, as they were faded far past gray,
it reminded him of she
who had long since passed away,
things so ugly, yet pearls in his eyes,
the only part of his love that did stay.
if even in shadowed memories.

So, while that vase was ridiculed
by strangers in his home,
the old man would smile,
and although still alone,
he knew that even dead flowers can be beautiful
as long as you know where they’ve been.

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