My Humble Opinion and Other Works:

We love the flower when it's bloomed... We love the flower when it's bloomed, yet withered, it is fast entombed, ripped out by root the Dutch swift boot; it has no worth to the lover's eye, the swooning glance, the tender sigh, as bad as weed fast gone to seed and dead to the honest heart's lust for loot. And so we find we wither too when he who loved has lost his mood; thus flowers have but shortened time to bask in sunshine's flattering eye. They soon must find another way, must fertilize... Sign in to see full entry.