I gazed upon a flower, a thing of beauty.
A scientist said, “It is my duty
To explain it’s purpose,
Let us look beneath The petals surface”.

I watched how the light did slant
Throwing dancing beams upon the plant.
But the scientist ranted
About the structure of that flower, so lovingly planted.

Is not a poem a thing of beauty?
Yet the critic sees it as his duty
To deconstruct every line.
Oh what happened to the poet’s verse divine?!

Why spend hours
Analysing poems and flowers
When we can revel in beauty
Forgetting “duty”?