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If only...


Orla M



Orla M
00:00 / 01:11

I look hopefully at the girl,

rushing over with a spade.

I will my petals to unfurl

but instead, they seem to age.

My roots, they thirst for water,

my roots, they gasp for air.

She runs away to play with toys

while I'm stuck sitting here.

The garden was a-thriving,

tulips and pansies galore.

But sure enough, slowly dying,

this girl thought watering a bore.

The pansies were my sisters,

the roses like my mum.

But they lost their will to live,

leaving all but one.

As I lay down my budded head

and unwillingly embrace the soil,

I secretly wish this child

would have her own inner turmoil.

The grin on her face is vibrant,

as happy as the sun.

She’s unaware what’s happening

while she’s off having fun.

She hears her parents calling,

“Look after your garden please!

Care for it and water it,

You could do it all with ease.”

My wilted leaves are drooping

right in front of her eyes,

but she’s too young yet to understand

and ignores this poor pansy’s cries.

And so I hope she learns,

and that her new garden thrives.

This porch-front could use some colour,

if only I could survive.

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