it is not a fresh flower
cut from the garden of my love
it is a dried flower
inserted between the pages
of my book
it was the first flower she ever
gave me
when we escaped class
to walk hand in hand
on that nearby hill
filled with the memories
of our youth
i am giving it back to her now
that she is moving on
with her own life
same with me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
wow what a treasure in return.......poignant poem yet have a positive way to live...moving on! ! ! Thanks