Discarded Flowers

I finished at the Fish Factory and walked through Town on the way to the pub, where a pint of Guinness sat with my name on it. A beautiful thought in it's own right. A colleage briefly walked with me then had to run off to a Quack appointment. On my short walk I passed a bunch of flowers, they looked like lillies. In a discarded plastic carrier bag. The cream and shocking cerise reds were like spilt blood on a newly laid table cloth, except these were worse the wear. And had probably been dropped, left in the Sun and in the process of wilting. Curled at the edges of the petals their youth hand uselessly passed away. On the pavement for all passers to glance cursorily in their direction.

The memory lingers on.

We are here but for a short while. So what I say is, love those you love with all your heart, piss off those you don't love with every wit in your repertoire and hold judgement on the one's your not sure about. Till further proof decides which side of the fence to lean. But above all never let your Guinness go to long without some attention.

Oops. Always give all and every bit of attention to the very special ones especially when their hugs are the warmest of all.