Flowers in class, the young girls ripple
and chatter
laughing together in twos and threes
their pages rustling
their pens swirling
between breezy fingers...
Lips: rosy pistiles, hair wheat-swaying....
their teacher is the gardener
standing gazing with critical approval,
clippng here, straightening there,
a one-hour deity,
sun across the heavens that they turn towards,
each with her own intentions
and ready to uproot,
leave the garden and


by Linda Hepner

Comments (4)

Poor little flowers, how innocently they go forth, to be plucked. I couldn't help but think that sometimes, it is the gardner that does the plucking. What a horrible thought, but a comment on our world today, that we are so afraid for our little flowers. Linda
Hey, I liked this one. Great write. love Ernestine XXX
Great subject to write on, I also love the analogy! :) ~~Elya Thorn~~
wait.. is this poem actually about flowers?