Flowers are right at marriages & funerals.
They speak as tongues cannot
as, round the altar, clumped in graveyards,
we take root.
Their colours flare, unauthored & unearthly.
They sing out, preach no text,
not even this, that something blessed
has gone past
Yet it was live, warm, human hands that picked them,
women’s eyed, no doubt, who saw
what must go where, what might be tendered
to the law
They speak as tongues cannot
as, round the altar, clumped in graveyards,
we take root.
Their colours flare, unauthored & unearthly.
They sing out, preach no text,
not even this, that something blessed
has gone past
Yet it was live, warm, human hands that picked them,
women’s eyed, no doubt, who saw
what must go where, what might be tendered
to the law
