Flowers and other pickable weeds

April 4, 1980

I am not the man I should be

I am not the song that echoes in the morning

With the rising sun, the settling dew

And crisp unfolding of pedaled flowers

Reaching for you

I am instead a weed, pickable on

This weary earth, but not especially grant

I am for you, if you’ll have me

I’m for me, when you’re gone

Yes, the Sunday chimes ring out

Preaching their own sad song

But mine is different

I am not the man I could be

I am only a heart beating, two eyes

Blinking, and a smile,

Simple and fine

Rising like a weed

For you