Conditions That Please or Displease Flowers

In the heart of a clean room, where sunlight spills,  

A window frames the world, a clear portal to dreams,  

Here, flowers blossom, nurtured by tender hands, 

The poet, lost in hobbies, ink-stained fingers, 

crafting verses like petals, soft and delicate,  

poems mingle with the scent of fresh blooms,  

A carefree friend arrives, laughter echoing, 

Sharing secrets from books on flower care,  

Each page a promise, each line a dance of colour.

But outside, a tumult of conditions unfolds, 

Dogs clash, their growls a discordant symphony, 

A fight in front of the window, a raucous display,  

Guests come and go, like passing clouds,  

Their chatter disrupting the silence of the blooms, 

False expressions of love, like shadows in the sun, 

Poems penned to appease, to fill the empty spaces, 

Yet the heart knows the weight of insincerity, 

Family inquiries, a constant ledger of accounts, 

While the beauty of flowers craves the soft touch of truth.

Books, neglected, lie in disarray,  

Their spines cracked, stories waiting to be told, 

A rhyming dictionary clutched in desperate hands, 

Each word a struggle, a battle for perfection, 

In the hush that follows turmoil, there is no peace,  

that is the elusive moment when blooms have enough,

close up, and flowers wilt utterly humiliated…