I was visiting the graveyard To see someone I hadn’t seen in a while. I bent down to touch the smooth, freshly laid stone- my heart almost tore apart And tears rolled down my cheeks to the tomb of the girl who deserved to smile.
There was only a row of jagged leaves on a vine Entwined around her grave- the world had left my friend with nothing but this.
Beneath the moss growing in an orderly line I saw a little flower-choked by the thorns growing above it amiss And I picked up the gentle thing- Though now November, it was bound to bloom by early spring.
The flower was tiny, dull yellow, almost too frail- It was gently curved over the edge of the green leaf with great detail.
I took it home, placed it in an ordinary glass And with water and a little sunshine, I let it grow. December, January and February had all passed And now, the flower had bloomed-it no longer hung down low.
I felt like the proud parent of a young child- Watching my beautiful flower sway in the breeze, I smiled.
Suddenly I felt an ache somewhere inside And my bottled up emotions poured out as I cried. The little flower said so much though it spoke not a word- If only that fearful night, my friend’s cry for help was heard.