Flowers

Blind, deaf and dumb and numb with death;
my thoughts were nought, my will was nil;
no air to breathe; no life to lead;
no wife to wed nor heir to breed.

But budding roses, from my blood, arose;
my two lips became a blooming tulip;
violets grew, like vital glow, from my eyes;
daffodils laughed and chrysanthemums cried.

From dearth and death to birth and breath;
morning from mourning; womb from tomb.
Grave turned to grove; grief turned to growth;
rot and gloom became root and bloom.