I never really liked flowers that much
The daisies always seeming too happy
The fragile roses poisoning my touch
All much too big or yet too small to see
But in Park Slope there seems another lot
All pink and white and growing in their crowds
And even dying I see that they’ve got
A sort of charm as petals fall in clouds
Colours against the sky are shocking still
In contrast yet in perfect harmony
Growing when it’s warm yet there’s still a chill
Their beauty comes from their simplicity
Dying and floating down to where we stand
Make a wish on the petal in your hand