Blossom

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Each wilted flower has seen,

a gentle smile curled on the lips,

a glitter in the eyes that saw it,

caressing touch of fingers that brushed past it,

a cheek as rosy as itself rubbed against it,

a warm sigh of an old lady,

remembering someone,

a bee that drank it’s nectar,

waved in hands of a young lover,

whispering stories short and sweet,

little prayers and wishes,

whispered to it for good luck,

a shy giggling girl,

repeating- ” loves me, loves me not ”

little buds blossomed,

and carried secrets as they bloomed,

secrets of life,

serene and true

December’s Eve

In My Lavendar Notebook.

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