She …needs poetry, prose , lament…

She looks at the pink blossoms that silently appeared overnight without warning. All of a sudden in just one night ! The casual walk in her garden turned into a mesmerized stare.

She looked at them wanting to say something marvelous. But she knew they are not waiting for exchange of words. They had no need of applause , poetry or prose. It was her need. She felt good about their simplicity and anonymity, more then their healthy pink beauty.

Two days later she witnessed their wilted brown shriveled forms and knew that they don’t regret or lament it either. It was her need.

 

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