An Unsalvageable Sunflower
Spring frost thaws When meeting the morning mist In the midst Of August. My sun-kissed petals Have become pallid. And I sing the sentimental ballad Of loss. Who am I If I am not A yellow sunflower? Happiness is my only power, And now that has gone. I am a figure painted by Keith Vaughan. I have no face, No space, To be. Floral phonetics Are fractured at the stem. I have no voice. Omitted from the pages of James Joyce’s Articulation of the demure drum That is daily life. Cast aside like a blunt breadknife - Unable to fulfil its duty. I am no longer a beauty. I am off duty. Redundant. Irrelevant. A sad sentiment In my ballad of loss. I dream of my days in Alsace. Serving another Being a lover Of life And loneliness And even the melancholy; The folly Of feeling,
