She loved the flowers.
She loved how they reached the sky,
colored like a second sun.
So she wanted her own.

She dropped the seeds
Delicately into the pot
And nurtured them for days, weeks,
but they croaked with the fear of growing old.

So they didn’t grow at all.

She always knew she would have to leave.
Soon would be her final day on Earth.
So again she dropped the seeds
delicately into the pot.

She nurtured them for days, weeks.
Time drew on,
but not a stem erupted.

Days, months, years
Passed
Quickly for some, for the young and the hopeful
Who spent every day excited for the next.

But for the delicate, it was long.
For her, it was long.
She knew time was wearing out.
Each new day was a miracle.

So he began to paint them
And so they began to grow.
Her eyes widened
She was speechless.

She couldn’t touch them,
But she imagined that she could.
And they felt just like she remembered.

Her time was almost up
She kissed him goodbye, told him:
She loved the painting, the colors;
She loved his eyes, and him, well
She loved everything about him.

Her eyes began to close,
The world was slowing down.
But she felt as if she was growing
Learning, living,
Reaching the sky
With the colors of a second sun.

She loved the flowers.