A red and yellow flower
Every day
Bloomed its heart out,
And no one noticed
Passing that way.
But after it was dead,
“It was pretty,” one man said.
A lamppost stood
In a neighborhood,
And thought it rotten
To be forgotten.
But one night for a lark
Two boys threw stones.
“My, but it’s dark,”
I heard a woman remark.
So keep your light shining
A number of ways,
And someone will miss it
–One of these days.
by Ray Romine Tuesday, July 3, 1945
