FlowersSome men never think of it.
You did. You'd come along
And say you'd nearly brought me flowers
But something had gone wrong.
The shop was closed. Or you had doubts --
The sort that minds like ours
Dream up incessantly. You thought
I might not want your flowers.
It made me smile and hug you then.
Now I can only smile.
But,look, the flowers you nearly bought
Have lasted all this while.
This poem by Wendy Cope arrived in the mail yesterday. The note also told me that Wendy Cope was discussed as a candidate for Britain's poet laureate in 2009 but made a public statement that she would not accept because she believed the position ought to be discontinued. Her rhymes are so integral they make me smile.
I have almost totally discontinued buying cut flowers because of the idea of killing something for brief, selfish pleasure. As a moral stance this makes only limited sense. A great many people depend upon the flower industry for their livelihood and, of course, flowers are plants and not creatures with minds and feelings. Still I prefer potted plants and have, in vases, at the moment only pieces of plants, i.e., some pussy willows and some eucalyptus stems [for the scent]
I've just noticed that the shrub outside my window beside the forsythia is a pussy willow and I suspect it was planted there by someone sticking cut stalks into the ground. I think I may do that with the pussy willows I now have. On a morning after a rainy night I'm sure they could be shoved into the ground near the one already there ...
