By John Thomas
I look out at the rain hit the flowers
Pink inpatients flash their colors
Other days on the far left of the deck
They get the morning sun.
My neglect, forgetful to water them
They wilted.
Each time, many times, they lost a little.
Pink is there, but their body has been slighted.
You can see the beauty still.
Nothing like a plant cared for.
She looked beautiful in youth,
Full of nourishment of the beginning.
From that point til the end,
each skipped day of watering
left less of the day before.
If she only knew the pink would
flower brighter if watered daily.
