Garden of the Dead



I come here
for the flowers—azalea, agapanthus, crocus,
peony, ranunculus—
but arrive too late, like the hero in the Western
who says to Sam,
“Who shot you? Who did this awful thing?”
just as Sam
bleeds out his last and rolls up his eyes.
But here,
there is no doubt: Ravenous poets attacked
these flowers,
ripped off their petals, chewed them down.
Left a graveyard
of ragged stalks and gravel headstones.
How often
the poet dines upon the very thing he loves.

blkflower.gif (257 bytes)

Fred Longworth

About the poet


Index of Poems   Poetry Resources   Next Poem?

Symbols    Stories    Dreams    Poetry
Invoking the Muse   The Hero's Journey
Contact Us    About the Site
Bookstore     Mailing List
Links     HOME   Site Map

©2000, Lyrica. All rights reserved
Lyrica is a registered trademark.