The flowers died on Monday. They had always flourished before that. Red, yellow, green, and blue. They were always full of life. Like her. The flowers died on Monday. They made me think of her. She took care of them every day, And had a vase full of her favorites. She’d invite us over to press flowers. The flowers died on Monday. I picked a couple of ones. Even though they had almost faded from lack of care. I took them there. Laid them by the headstone. The flowers bloomed again next spring. I went early every day, just to water them. On weekends, I had my daughter help me. She would’ve loved to be there with us. We laid a few down, just for her. Just to say goodbye.
A sad poem with a happy ending. Thoughts?
