Written on 4-6-10
A storm approaches
Along the darkened coast
Storm clouds arise
As the dry ground will be soaked
The rain pours down
As the gentile earth stands still
This could last for hours
Will it ever dry?
The rain comes to a stop
As the clouds move away
The earth is once again still
For now, anyway
As the softened earth settles down
From this pounding pour
Something appears on the ground
Something small, alone, and tore
Through the ground comes up
The slightest sight of green
What is that?
Is it a weed?
For not a weed, but a sprig of lavender
Approaches the disheveled surface
It may just look like a blade of grass
But the color yet to show
As the lavender grows and lives
The coloring is showing more
Before it was shy and young
But now it’s older and brave
And as it ages
The scent is stronger
Wiser, true, and bold
The time has come for it to be picked, for others to behold
This beauty has been taken out
By who other than a mere child
Has picked a flower for his love
So her heart will allow another
And as they sit
So close together
The young girl has a thought
To burry the sprig of lavender
Right in the windowsill box
As she puts the plant in
The lavender realizes it’s time
To lay at rest and know that now
Its time is finally up
As life slips out of its stem
Out of the colors of its world
As its lifeless body lays there
In the darkened box
The girl has now put soil on top
Of the ended life
But what both don’t really know is
The lavender might not live again
But the young one it gives tonight
It will witness another downfall
Of rain from the pouring skies
And once again it will rise
Reincarnated into this restless, new life
And it will still be shy at first
When young and unaware
That it is loved and cared for
By that young girl who is the hand
Her hand will be so gentile
As they learn and grow
For all of them will still need help
Even when young at heart
As one continues to grow and live
Its time will come too
For she will pick lavender for this boy
The boy who picked before too
And as these two live through generations of lavender
For they will help after these
It will be buried in that box
With deadened bodies too
These lifeless souls
Have had successful, loving lives
But now the newest, youngest one
It’s time for it to die
And as this family continues to grow
Out of that same little box
The boy and girl, now woman and man
Are older than a few
And then the little boy
Who picked the first sprig from that matted field
Will soon be gone and put in his own windowsill box
And buried with more and few
And then the girl who has grown up
Is sad and all alone
And as she buries her last sprig
Her soul is now a bone
And as she remembers that very first piece
Of lavender that she received
She lies down to rest and with a single breath
Her body no longer moves
And she is too
Buried in the box
On the giant windowsill
With her love and in the end
They too will come anew.
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