Sunday, 20 August 2017

When I pick flowers


I always feel sad 
When I pick flowers
Especially orange ones
My favorite colour

I always feel sad 
When I see people
With hoods marching
To right and the left

Their torches alight
Erasing history
Statues come down
To mask all the facts

Will we teach lies?
Will history be wrong
Evil deeds live on
Stability gone

I always feel sad
When I pick flowers
Especially orange ones
My favorite colour

Image found at www.newyorker.com/news

6 comments:

  1. such a lovely poignant poem, Oldegg, I love it! :)

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  2. the times have energized sadness and hope ... your poem puts it all beautifully

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  3. Beautifully placed contrasts, picking up on the theme the words invited.

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  4. I love the way you've used repetition here.

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