MY LILY FOLDETH

Ah… my lily foldeth is what I detest…

all the more, all the more,

I labored so profusely, in the morning,

in the morning… 

but no more.
 

I nurtured each petal, each stem, each vexing offspring.

And, in the fiery morn, they grew beyond all glory—

all the more, all the more.

And now as shadows descend from atop my brow,

I cry all the more, all the more.

For they know not from whence they sprang,

Nor do they wonder, nor do they care—

anymore, anymore.

O’ my toil, my toil… my heart is broken!

With despair—my despair—every where, everywhere.

They bend away, yet turn, for sake of lore…

forever more, forever more.

O’ I long to hold them…

but once more… but once more.

My lily foldeth, I am no more.

And as I sit… and as I stare…

Without child, my heart is bare. 

What life doth bring when lilies foldeth,

Is more than I can bear.

by R. Christopher