If Wordsworth were to bring me flowers
I’ve no doubt it would be chrysanthemums
with pretty heads growing old
on sturdy shoulders.
They’d last the full seven days
like it says on the label
and their loveliness would slowly
fold into the ocean that sustains them.
ShelIey’s hand would grip the stems
of half a dozen blood red roses, thorns and all.
And they’d live scandalously for a few short hours
then die a swift dramatic death.
Susan Jane Sims
In February 2012 I was invited to be guest poet at Words and Ears, Bradford on Avon, (an open mic event organised by Dawn Gorman and Helen Murray). The above poem was part of my set.