Sunbeam7 Poetry (3)

The lonely hydrangea, on a shelf
In a pot
It was not
Where he wanted to be.
For he had aspirations
Beside the carnations
In a bed more befitting to he.

Where bees fill their pockets
And foxgloves hold sway,
He'd grace
Such a place
One fine day.

In shadows of orchards green,
Dappled light,
Apples bright,
He would be part of the scene.

But alas came his Autumn, and blue
Turned to brown
Barren gown
Showing winter was due.

How sad his last bow
In the night,
Waxen light
Of a moon pale, will not wake him now.

Poppies bright
A scarlet light
In meadows sombre.

The crimson sway
Illumnes the day
Amid the furrows.

Winds blow keen
And frail stalks lean
Comes soon the parting.

Petals quiver
Soon gone hither
In the yonder.

So sweet June
Will come back soon
In new beginning.

Poppies bright
A scarlet light
Once more in showing.

Roses 'round the door
That mock me now,
Provoking thoughts of
Yesterday, and how,
We threw away a love
Once strong and true,
And empty rooms resound
With ghosts of you.

I've packed my bags
This final time and yet
I linger in the hall
Lest I forget
The passion and the pain
And days of laughter,
False promise of
A happy ever-after.

The sign says 'sold',
Today, I take my leave
The beauty of the rose,
Belies the loss I grieve,
Their splendour cannot
Lift this leaden hour,
There's nothing sweet in
Love turned winter sour.