The flower

I sat with a flower
All rich with colour,
And filled with smells
Delicate and romantic
That lingered in the air
And held my contemplation
In the splendour and peace
Of the living garden.

The dew on its petals
Shone crystal in the sun
And the flower was open
And greeting the day
As if to say that life is splendid
In these moments of attention.

But then from its heart,
From the centre of the flower,
Came crawling
And wriggling,
Resplendent in green,
A fat and bulbous caterpillar
Looking out to the day.

It winked at the sun now high in the sky
And returned to its work,
To its work of death,
Till the flower’s
Heart is eaten away.