Poem: Small Yellow Flowers

When I was little, 
I picked some flowers
From the back yard.

Sour grass. Weeds, really-
But I liked the small 
Yellow blossoms.

I brought them inside
And mother put them
In a blue vase. 

That night, the blossoms 
Closed. And I cried,
Afraid they died.

Don't worry, Julie,
The flowers will bloom
In the morning.

And they did. 

What I didn't know,
Until much older: 
The truth that hides

Behind that memory,
That the flowers were
Already dead.

They only bloomed for 
A few brief days to
Keep me happy. 

An unsuspecting
Moment's sacrifice
To make me smile.

What I didn't learn
Until middle age:
The bigger truth,

That hides underneath,  
That all of us are
Already dead.

We only live for
A few brief years to 
Make each other happy. 

Now I seem to sense
A much bigger truth, 
Behind that one...

Is there a bigger 
Truth? I don't know. 
The flowers didn't 
Know either.


 

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