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Blooming Daughter (an extended metaphor)
I watched as she softly climbed the stairs to the podium. Soaking in her achievement, as a lilac would soak in rain after a drought. She paused for a picture. Grasping it so tightly, the diploma looked to be connected to her, reminding me of a leaf attached to a stem. She gracefully glided off the stage and took her seat. The last 18 years came like the wind, fast and unexpected. As a newborn, a little seedling, she was a delicate and precious thing. Her eyes reflected the sunlight, and her skin was as soft as a petal. I raised her as I would a newly sprouted lily, supplying her with the food and water she needed to grow. As a young girl, she was vibrant and stood out. She was kind, welcoming anyone who sought her company with a sweet vibe. She cared for people and brought a smile to everyone’s face. She supported her loved ones, as a sunflower would support a bee in its quest for food. And then the rainy days of April cleared, and she bloomed. Tall like an orchid, and beautiful like a lilac, she grabbed the attention of anyone who set eyes on her. Her smile opened up her face, as the awaking petals would a daisy. I look at her now. Her long hair riding in the breeze, like the dying leaves of autumn. Her once clover-like self, has now blossomed into a rose resembling being. She sat straight and tall, as if reaching for the sky. Finally, she rose and reached for her cap. A tear slid off my cheek, as a lasting raindrop would on a flower petal. I watched as her cap was taken by the wind, like a dandelion at the end of its journey.

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This piece illustrates the resemblance between a maturing daughter and a blooming flower.