The Flowering/Growing Up

(For Carry On Tuesday)
Part of a quote from Victor Hugo

THE FLOWERING

A  life  is a flower; true, I suppose,

Sometimes a thistle, sometimes a rose.

It starts as a neat little closed-up bud,

And it falls, in the end, into dust or mud.

Maybe it blooms a little too early

And suffers in a youthful hurly-burly.

Maybe it's late to reach its best

And suddenly dazzles all the rest.

Some come to flower much admired

And preen in the poetry they've inspired.

Other's lives seem to be like weeds,

They feel like blossoms nobody needs.

Birth and death and all between

Are reflected in flowers and all things green.

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My tall grandson, Blake.

GROWING UP

There's a lot of talk about growing up;

But growing down's not mentioned,

Yet this is something that occurs

Some time after you're pensioned!

Grandchildren, once such tiny tots,

Start to get tall and slender;

They know the world belongs to them

And Grandma must just surrender.

Once they start looking down on us

We know our race is run.

We're shrinking, shrinking, fading away:

Their turn has just begun.

What if we  kept on growing down

Until we were baby-small

And then got teenier day by day

Until there was nothing at all!

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