The man who eats flowers,
he’s one of a kind.
He lives by himself,
but he doesn’t mind.
He sits in his room burning candles of wax,
just waiting for time to pass.
He eats flowers here by the school,
crouched up near the lambs of wool.
The first flower he ate he said,
”Boy is this good!”
He told everyone else to try them out too.
The seeds of the flowers grew into his cord,
set his spine,
now completely unmoved.
The flowers they’re growing like ropes within him,
blooming like alpine flowers for sure.
The teachers,
they wanted the children to see,
wanted to make sure they understood:
“Don’t try the flowers from the field,
your mind end up completely congealed!”
One of the children,
he didn’t listen,
he crept up by flower eater,
followed along with his eyes aglisten.
To the teacher and all the rest the game was then over,
there was no going back,
no point to stoop lower.
Now flower eater and apprentice sit together by the school,
eating flowers by the lambs of wool.
From both their mouths sprout fountains of fluffy flowers,
flooding around like incessant towers.
One of the students touched them with his little fingers,
mesmerized so he did linger.
The parents came to see their boy too,
found him by the lambs of wool.
“Nobody even tried to help him!”
Momma was in dismay.
Father stood as still as a statue,
could have stood there all day.
The teachers patted their backs with their own eyes all dried,
there was no way to help him,
no reason to change the tide.
WAST WRTNG 