Flowers - W. H. Davies

Flowers by W. H. Davies What favourite flowers are mine, I cannot say -My fancy changes with the summer's day.Sometimes I think, agreeing with the Bees,That my best flowers are those tall apple trees,Who give a Bee his cyder while in bloom,And keep me waiting till their apples come.Sometimes I think the Columbine has won,Who hangs her head and never looks the Sun Straight in the face.And now the Golden Rod Beckons me over with a graceful nod;Shaped like a sheaf of corn, her ruddy skinDrinks the Sun dry, and leaves his splendour thin.Sometimes I think the Rose must have her place -And then the Lily shakes her golden dice Deep in a silver cup, to win or lose.So I go on, from Columbine to Rose, From Marigold to Flock, from Flock to Thrift -Till nothing but my garden stones are left.But when I see the dimples in her face, All filled with tender moss in every place -Ah, then I think, when all is said and done,My favourite flower must be a Mossy Stone!Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree