Ideas are flowers of the mind,
Grown in fertile imagination.
That blossom with encouragement,
And bloom in the warm glow of praise.
So why does my mind only produce brambles?
That tangle, and twist
In my brains dark maze.
Why can I not grow flowers,
Only thorns and vines that tear,
Making my ideas bleed and blend.
But at least I have ideas,
That grow, however twisted.
And not a barren sand dune
Where ideas only end. 10th March 2014
Thank you for reading. xx
