Sweet William

What of the sweet william in the field,

With violet blooms most shapely,

And rooted deep to never yield,

Beauty and survival yet innately,

Choked by ratty thistle and thorn,

Amidst the damp of moss and stone,

Here yesterday was just born,

And tomorrow will be long gone,

What then of the sweet william flower,

What respite shall it find,

When the wilted pile does cower,

And the weary wheel of time does grind,

Ashes to ashes and rot to rot,

Returning as the phoenix yearly to bloom,

By torment of sand and sun besought,

The sleeping bulbs of the garden but the tomb.

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ScaleneCargo161

Great poem. You beautifully described the flower and the lines flowed like stream after a fresh spring shower.

Thanks ️

Will

I'm scared