The Sunflower

A poem I wrote a few months ago:

The Sunflower

We hold up and gaze at

The head as big as our own,

It scours the earth below,

Magnificent;

We cradle it in child’s arms.

Let’s prise out seeds

Over the earth to watch

And listen to their flat sides bed down

In secret;

A molten dew-shower.

Here lies our treasure,

X marks the spot,

Let the place not be forgot.

Dreamily it asks why

We cut off its head –

“we were young”

We stammer,

“You seemed dead”;

We saw the plunder,

The wealth we hoped for;

We went for broke.

© Richard Townrow