When I was in college, I would occasionally buy flowers for myself.
When I finally got an apartment of my own, I went on a quest for the perfect vase that would fit one of those cheap bouquets from the supermarkets and some greenery comfortable while still being stable enough that it wouldn’t be likely to tip if a cat brushed up against it.
At the student pottery sale a year ago, I found the perfect vase. It is beautiful and subtle, heavy and decorative.
And then I started watching my money.
I want flowers
As we go marching, marching, in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: Bread and Roses! Bread and Roses!As we go marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women’s children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses.As we go marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient call for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for, but we fight for roses too.As we go marching, marching, we bring the greater days,
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler, ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life’s glories: Bread and roses, bread and roses.Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; bread and roses, bread and roses.
And then I remember that there are many more practical things that I want more.