Father of the Flowers, In Memoriam O Father of the Flowers, you have laid to rest your grindstone badge, an emblem on your chest of The Ferryman's pride that comes to shore when all his children reach the golden sands that call them forth—You're tired and you're poor! Come test your worth! And make something of this man's boundless mirth! O Father of the Flowers, are you laughing still? Far from your mother's soil, was it your will to transplant all your daisies in a boiling pot and leave them in the sun to wilt and rot? Their lovely petals falling to alight the thorn— to have blossomed at last only to mourn. O Father of the Flowers, while your daughters weep, their dreams in repose as you mimic sleep, rest well, rest well. Take comfort in a job well-done in bringing flowers closer to the sun. If only they could celebrate the warmth it made instead of yearning for your silent shade.