I, too, was once a tulip
firm, Parisian fan petals
velvety, soft and
worthy of touching.
I, too, was once one of them
things with long, firm legs,
a pop-up delight
free falling in the windy night
only to regain my composure
each morning,
dew drops refreshing me.
I, too, was plucked by the stem,
shoved in a basket with the others
my age, for comparison.
Brought to market
and sold on a whim,
then put in a vase
out of sunlight,
and forgotten.
No one looks at you after your colors go dim.
©2023 | K. Hartless
GloPoWriMo #11: This poem was written for Late Night Poet’s Break on Through celebrating the paintings of Bernard Buffett.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
beautiful but sad, K; I love the metaphor of the flowers, how you play with it, and that killer last line: ‘No one looks at you after your colours dim ‘; great song btw
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Thank you kindly, John. I saw this painting and had that instant feeling about it. A heart on the sleeve sort of write. I’m glad you like it, and the musical number that was playing in my head as I wrote it.
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where
s it from, K? a stage production?
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Les Mis. I think the broadway version.
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It leads me to think to never pick a beautiful flower 🙂
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Indeed. It’s a bit like being an executioner, I suppose.
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It is really…
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You share such creative and moving work. Thank you, K.!
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So kind. I really appreciate your comments, Michelle. Thank you for reading my words.
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I really enjoy your posts, so it’s a win-win. 😁
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“No one looks at you after your colors go dim” – boy did I feel that line 🖤🖤
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Yes, an acute observation on myself, but one I imagine to be quite universal to middle aged women. Thank you for connecting to my piece.💜
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You’re most welcome my friend.
Thank you for siting such a resonant piece 😊🖤
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💜
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