Flower thieves

They sneak in everyday morning, plastic bags in hand

In their day lives they are fathers, mothers, sons or daugthers

But they work with the precision seen only in pros

When they approach the flowery boughs

With the deftness of a gymnast they lean over

Plucking flowers with one hand and bagging them with the other

They occasionally look over their shoulders with tact

To see if anyone caught them in the act

These flower thieves come in all sizes and shapes

Some are fair, some are dark, some fat and some are thin

Some are smug, some are sad, oh there are others with a sinful grin

The flowers resist the dastard act with all their might

But with all the tugging and plucking its a pitiful sight

Once the collection is done and the bag is full

They move on with their bounties to lay them at some altar

What an irony, a murderous act is done in the name of God

The flowers are cut, blossoms, buds all alike

The beauty of another morning destroyed with vengence

The trees and bushes sawy to the wind as if in protest

The same wind that should have carried the frangrance

Moves on disappointed yet again, wondering why

Man wants to posses and make his, all that is beautiful

I move on with the wind and start running again

Wishing to find a beauty untouched