Flowers
Broken petals of a flower,
Crushed
By childish hands,
As cubby fingers
Grasp too harshly
The blossom
To dump perfumed
Crumple
Into my own with
Childish glee.
I must hold
This child of
Petal-stained fingers
Carefully
Without crushing
What he may become.
By Myrna Trauntvein
Copyright by Myrna Trauntvein.
I have won several judged writing awards with this poem.
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