Flowers Of Blue

Wilt not Oh blue flowers

Drawn unto this vase this hour,

Though you be layered and lain,

upon stems of corruption and pain.

For of your frescos simple bud,

comes forth of His crimson blood.

Hence staving off of final truth,

of secrets hidden in flowers of blue.

For of this darkness comes forth our foe,

And of the light is our blessing to know.

Less now we search for those who have no pain

whilst we who dwell in darkness remain.

Oh wilt not these flowers of blue,

for they are but sad memories of you.

J. Allen Wilson © 2004