The fullness of each blossom
It's smoothness it's texture
From center bulb and pulp
Her smile looked tender yet exasperated
Her glassy eyes locked
Never giving up hope for she was in love
Not in love with the world around her
But her own world
Her voice began to crack
Silence was no more
As she began to speak in testimony
Going on and on about this beautiful flower
Twisting the stem until she pricked her finger
All I could see a dried dead crinkled up flower
But to her it was forever live
For it was the last gift
Her deceased husband
Left her thirty some odd years ago
