Who loves not flowers of colours gay
and loves not what they have to say?
Yet their colours bright were not for us
but for the bee – or perhaps a moth!
Now in a vase humbly in their hues
nostalgically they sigh for the night’™s soft dews.
Never will one bear a seed
and just because of human greed.
Never to reach a goal endowed
Just to mourn – to make men proud –
A pleasure that’™s so soon gone
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  Then to a collection bin be thrown!