Flowers from the Garden

On an early summer morning, she wearsorange-bouquet-1447506912bhQ
her dress with red dots and ivory lace.
She sits by the white curtains and stitches,
nodding off to her grandmother’s chatter.
“Hullo!” a voice calls out from the window.
A prick and a sigh, she places aside her
bloodstained embroidery to move the curtain.
From the window past her vines, the man grins.
He holds a bouquet— her garden flowers!
“What is this?” she asks him, forcing a smile.
“I saw a blossom more beautiful than
those on the vine. These are for that blossom.”
Lips pressed together, she plucks a single flower.
“Why, thank you, good sir. You are ever so kind.”

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