Sunflowers

It's beautiful, watching you

undress beneath the English sun.

Come here, come out. We're not done.

Higher, upwards, to the heavens above -

all in the name of true love.

It's poetic, staring at you

grow and not knowing why.

Earthbound, wishing you could fly.

Insignificant but with meaning.

I know you're tired, you're leaning.

We wait and wait for you to rise,

as one lives and another one dies.

Hide and go seek

in the middle of the night.

It has to be perfect. Just right.

Then you yawn your way out,

incredible, considering the drought.

Life makes sense, sometime,
if you walk backwards
on a steep steep climb.

Often, though, it doesn't;
curveballs are thrown
plans are blown
a dog just lost his bone
and he's all alone.
Millennials on their phone
in a tea-shop eating a scone
wait, is that a drone?
Stitches are sown
the Queen is still on her throne
illegal gases in the ozone
and we're all so desperate to atone.

Instead, we should be planting
sunflowers in our back garden.
I beg your pardon.
Instead, we should be falling
in happiness, deeper and deeper.
The good things in life are cheaper.