Forget-me-nots

I found her curled up in the darkest recess of her being. Her vessel once skipped through daisies; bending as tunes reached their pause, indicating a moment to pick the yellow centres flowing with a white halo and place their sacred sacrifice into her upturned skirt. In a spiritual ceremony she spent her whiles threading each flower into the other; making a crown of sunlight softness to gift her furrowed brow. Or if desired the weary traveller, she’d often meet on her sojourns.

A sun filled day arrived like so many before; yet her heart lacked its beat. With her skirt in hand she went to her sacred field to pick and create a new crown. At first she convinced herself she’d taken a wrong turn for nothing was alive. Not a stoic oak, or a metaphysical reed, nor a blade of simple grass and worst of all her forever daisies. So she searched each patch of earth till so weary with a heart that lacked its beat, she curled up on the barren earth and wept herself into a forever sleep.

It was there I found her
with my link of forget-me-nots.

Forget-me-nots

Lisa  Jewell

Joined July 2007

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