As the skin that blanketed
my bitter body turns cold,
the ground begins to warm
beneath the May sun

radiant spring flowers
rapidly grow,
just as my daughter
never questions why

seasons have to change,
and some mothers hugs
only wrap tightly around you
during a fresh-linen breeze

that spreads seeds and pollen,
creating new life
while whisking a silk
petal to her yellow hair

that was the color of mine
the day I bathed in red roses
excavated from our colorless garden
on the other side of the Willow, from which I now lie

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