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Little
Flower so sweet and small
the prettiest
flower of them all;
You stand there so helpless
Sun on your head
Why are you wishing that you were dead?
You lift your small stem
And scan the sky,
Rain starts to fall
Making you cry.
"Why did they pick me;
I'm not fully grown
To tear me and cut me
And take me home."
Little Flower thrown out
With the trash;
Alone and forgotten
walked on and smashed.
Original Poem
Kathalise Martin
Nov.4,1999
Do not remove or
copy without permission.