To be with the Flowers

You laid
seemingly content,
in your personal prison,
day and night.

But I saw the façade
in your eyes,
as you gazed
unseeingly
out your only portal
to the outside.

You didn’t fool me.

You longed to be free
of your pruned
aching
body.

You longed to exchange
your metal cane
for your worn
trowel
and tightly gripped blankets
for rough, dirtied
gloves.

I remember the longing
in you tired eyes.
But all I could do
was trade out my time
for your old gray trowel
and hope that it would suffice.

But now,
you reside where
flowers
are bright,
everlasting.





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