Where have all the flowers gone?”
My neighbor she did query,
But to ask such a question,
Perhaps she should be leery.
So used to always seeing those,
Fresh flowers in my house,
And never even knowing,
What they were all about.
And no matter their state of beauty,
I received them with a glower,
To think that he could buy me back,
With a simple bouquet of flowers.
And as time went on,
In a marriage that was faltering,
Never did he improve upon,
This very paltry offering.
A sad attempt to hide a state,
Of cheating, stealing and lying,
All represented in a bouquet,
Of flowers that lay dying.
Till one day at his pathetic gift,
I flew into a murderous rage,
And if you want to know where all the flowers have gone,
They’re lying on his grave.