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.