Jack, where have all the flowers gone?

Jack, where have all the flowers gone?
There is a patch of grass
With the most exquisite flowers
That I know one can grow.
They are exotic, their smell tropic.
The colors hypnotic
The array without logic, but definitely erotic.
I stood there awed
When Jack said
They are all flawed
They are too much work
He would smirk
And cut down two,
They were too blue.
He picks up more seeds to plant
He has a good, steady hand.
He gets them all to grow
Just below the meadow.
I am delighted,
But Jack is frightened.
You can't trust any
They are all alike, and there is plenty.
They are beautiful, but empty.
He tramples across the field
With a shield.
One by one they fall
He kills them all.
Now the patch is flat and bare
The grass beyond repair.
Jack, Jack
Where have all the flowers gone?

© Colleen Yorke. All right reserved.

All names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this blog are fictitious. No identification with actual persons, places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. © All rights reserved.