Flowers on the Wall

The flowers lie on the stone wall,
bright and recently alive,
their white petals fresh,
their slender green stalks
still strong, beautiful
in this moment where they are freshly picked,
perfect, even as the starvation begins.

Unsure

You cry quietly, a stranger in this place,
unapproachable, it seems,
unsure whether to stretch like a cat in the sun,
savoring this perfect moment,
or mourn the change in weather
as the winter approaches.

About this poem

This started out as a single poem, until I realized there were really two of them. And some garbage (which I threw out) connecting them.

The picture was taken in Cornwall, England. But it could have been taken almost anywhere.

Tom