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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=569157" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poetry And Flowers</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=569157" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Lark and rose go mad, even with winter<br>coming on, the garden beneath the verandah blooms,<br>the park is dense with sun and soccer balls.<br>By lark I mean generic bird, God knows<br>the names for all these things with wings. Ditto<br>the rose: the garden drooling colour and bloom.<br>Lavender I recognise, and jasmine climbing<br>the concrete wall, and a real rose in the corner,</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=569157" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">red as blood. I meant to say: birds and flowers<br>go ballistic, even with winter coming on.<br>Carrying on their own life. The earth drowns<br>in the blooming. Even when there is no wind there is<br>the solar wind, whipping our bodies from the depths of space.<br>Ferocities of trees bent double. Playing soccer,<br>nobody notices this. The far park flutters in mirage.<br>The jasmine is awash with butterflies.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Luke+Davies">Luke Davies</a></strong></div>