wildflowers and lawn mowers

Today I saw them mowing down a field of wildflowers.
It seemed such a tragedy to me,
something that others would seek,
carelessly driven over for the sake of a flat lawn.
I guess that's the price that must be paid to have a neat and orderly yard.
but that has never been my way I prefer chaotic and beautiful.
Wildflowers to me, weeds to others I suppose.
As I see them disappear beneath the gardeners blades my mind races with a hundred things I wish I could tell them of.
Movies filmed entirely in magic hours that look like heaven has descended upon us forever.
long walks on cool nights, where the air smells like spring, and the chill breeze makes me wish I had brought my coat.
Forgotten gardens, hidden between buildings, where I steal naps.
secret passages I long to explore, but haven't the courage.
Stunning views from cliffs at sunset, while I eat my veggie burger and milkshake.
Poems published in the Thursday chronicle, read by few, understood by none.
Sweaters bought on Christmas Day relegated to a pile near my bed.
Alone each time i think of the wildflowers for surely they would appreciate them.
tragically, yet predictably I spend to much time thinking and by the time I'm done the mowers have finished their work.
It was never my lawn to begin with, so there never really was much I could do.
Still I'll miss it the same, see I used to tell it my secrets, and now all I can really say is goodbye.
Let it never be said that there was nothing to be said between us, just that we said nothing.
In a way I think that's the biggest tragedy of all.
Maybe next spring I'll stumble across this hill and once again see my friend.
With a spring rainstorm on it's way, thunder clapping in the distance echoing my desire,
I'll lay in the grass and let the drops of rain consume us.
Then I'll tell my friend everything they've missed, and pray that the gardener won't come this day.