A Purple Grave
At the grave she stays
Watching and waiting,
But waiting for whom?
A crow comes by,
Black as night and cold as winter,
And sits by her as she stares.
They sit, silent as the sea,
Both waiting for something never to come.
Everyday they sat, watching, waiting, and staring.
It was constant-unchanging.
Although, change always comes unexpectedly.
Over night a flower grew
Right above her mother's grave.
Light purple, tall and narrow,
The flower stood against the gray graveyard.
When the girl came again,
The crow was not there,
But she did not feel sad, for she knew
Purple was her mother's favorite.
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I honestly wrote this in my first block class one day and thought that others may want to read it as well