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Expressions
March 28, 2019
Why do I keep
wandering aimlessly
through the garden
of the smitten?
Orchids, irises, daffodils,
and bleeding hearts.
There is nothing for me here,
for I am an
orange freesia flower;
I spiral out
of proportion,
always reaching for something
more.
I am the red geranium
hunkered at my grandpa’s
red grave, and frosted
by winter’s
unmerciful chill.
I am the simple
white carnation
sitting at your kitchen table;
a masterpiece
for a curious nose.
Nobody gives me away
as an expression
of infatuation,
but rather,
those who have me keep me to themselves.
© Lindsay T., Vernon, TX
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I have no clue where the inspiration for this poem came from. I just wrote it one day.