The Florist Of Hope Street
He had cigarette stained lungs Drenched trenchcoat that smelt of liquor Underneath lay a heart soft and bleak Touched by heavens hand Skin wrinkled like aged wood Shoes tarnished from lifes rocky journeys And with hands that wiped away floods from eyes On the corner of Hope street he planted seeds Already laying in it's bed were daisies and roses Under his fingernails was the soil of care Using his tears to feed the earths siblings The flowers reflecting his nature Nature caring for nature Using every last nickle he had to plant beauty Beneath the bed of his heart he lays Speaking to his soul of uncertainties Touching the seams of his broken heart And after splashing around in his thoughts He lays between his subdued family Never judging, never lying While the earth supports his weight The soil consumes every seed of his life His tears help his remains grow between time Every flower that grew on Hope street released him Sprouted his existence in the palms of their hands The clouds cry for him now The wind lost and lonely without him His remains are the flowers that sprinkle the soil.
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