Perhaps the cause was a very black thumb.
Nor sure if it was or not.
But the flowers, parched and exhausted
Bent to the rim of the pot.
They wouldn't stand up. They wouldn't please.
They wouldn't sway gently in the soft, summer breeze.
They wouldn't do a single thing
You'd think a flower oughter
And all because of a silly black thumb
Or want of a drink of water.
AngelMay, August 2010
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