Yesterday I went to the flower shop,
and I had a weird thought there:
What if we raised flowers again,
Like we did when we were kids?
You’d have one by your easel,
and me one by my desk.
We’d send each other pictures
from our places round the globe.
And along the way we’d marvel at
how little Difference is.
I’ve actually already bought them–
They’re in the house right now, and
Their faces in the light are like
Two kids built full on dreams.
Aren’t they pretty?
Look! How they reach
And kill themselves for light.
Think of what they’d grow to mean, if only you would care.
Though honestly I’d get it
if you threw yours out tonight.
I know he’d be a burden
and that’s nothing that I want.
But let me ask of you one thing
before he’s sent to die:
Leave him on the windowsill,
before you turn to leave.
I’d feel a lot better
knowing he withered in the sun.