The wreath

The pit of lime that is memory
it eats and digests constantly
for that was bright and shining once
and had great life and countenance
that splashed with laughters springtime showers
that growth of everlasting lookout towers
to reach and saw what lay ahead
 dangers fungal mold traps signals that are red
for headonistic lives dont give a fuck
they never stop they shoot it up
that Viagra stiffness upward thrust
screaming as their long stems cut short
the boquets full of dying buds
stand in the vase refreshed with tears of celophane
tributes wither tortured wraped in wire
now left thirsty and alone the sun and wind
hushed words of kind discard, are now exposed
from the greenhouse to the world of pain
a life from innocence and cultured grace to beside the grave
that hydroponics gave our sorrow that relief
of beauty spontainiously deceased