Flowers From The Forgotten Past

The old man sat at the end of the lane,

Stringing flowers from sunrise to sundown.
He watched with some joy and some more pain;
His garlands and bouquets across the town.

They came at all times of the day,

In the hopes of winning their loved ones,

After all, flowers speak the language of the soul,

And he wished he had done the same, if only once.

It was only ever in the rain,

As he watched the flowers wilt unused, 

As he remembered the flower he refused,

That he felt in his heart that familiar pain.

//Looking Too Closely - Fink//