(photo credit: Pixabay)
As the sunshine flows into trees,
She wished natural peace would flow into her.
Mama always said,
every story was important,
every story needed to be told,
but like sad notes on the piano,
her story was one she wasn’t ready to tell.
Every time she got to the end of that rope,
felt it get weaker,
every time she made a knot,
and continued to hang on.
She wanted to speak in flowers.
she wished people could speak in flowers,
in the rhythm of the wind,
the calmness of the night,
the graciousness of the moon,
the intenseness of the sunset and sunrise,
or the stillness of the river,
because then it would have been easier to understand.
She wanted to speak in flowers,
but how would they understand?
There was no room to speak in flowers,
There was only room to re-adjust to her surrounding,
Re-adjust to the pollution,
the on-going ruin of nature.
She wished to come back as a tree,
Speak the language of flowers.
Can we speak in flowers?