REFLECTION
Why can't I paint the flowers?
To me that is why they are there.
Daring to be something different,
the mist is really air.
Why do the flowers reflect me so?
When it is of them I do not know.
Marginally feeling of soul,
more to money as I grow old.
Forgetting the flowers painted for me,
folding up so I can not see.
Reveal yourself one other time,
before I watch the hands final wind.
Elemental now one with me.
Why didn't the flower speak to me?
Now I know, for I am one
with the flower staring at another one.
