Wednesday, March 23, 2011
happy colors in her palette.
Spring awakens those that dream.
I held her hand,
skipping and jumping.
She held on tight.
I was six years old,
my brown hair caressing my face.
I remember mom's voice,
sweet and kind.
We passed the abandoned lot,
and I discovered the yellow flowers blooming.
My soul was singing,
"mom look at all the yellow flowers"
My face light up,
she smiled to share my joy.
The girl that loved the yellow flowers
grew up to discover that they were weeds.
To me they were flowers,
To me they were salvation,
to me they will always be spring.
To me they will always be a part of mom and me.
How I wished to always hold her near,
how her memory lives this spring,