Freshly-picked words

Like the roadside morning blooms
Picked by the early rising lover
Who picks the early morning flower
Before it can be crushed
By the speeding trucks of doom
The cruel wheels of the waking world

Thus it is that I pick my words
For you in the morning
Freshly grown words
Dew-ridden in the morning light
Dew-written at the end of night

These words shall crumble away
By the end of day
But now they are fresh
My offering to you
Before the wheels of the world can spin us apart
A bouquet of hand-picked words from the heart