Wilted Flowers

Not all wilted flowers are dead. Some are surviving.

Though they are no longer watered, they pray for the rain.

Though they are no longer pretty, still there, they remain.

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Wilted Flowers

He Still Loves Me

Through stretches of my skin,

And words that I didn’t mean,

He still loves me.

Through heartbeats in my affliction,

And glow during my elation,

He still loves me.

When the blue sky has turned yellow,

Wide roads get narrow,

African jazz sounds mellow,

Japan sunset is making a crescendo,

He still loves me.

When my nice handwriting gets crooked,

In the last chapter of my book,

He still loves me.

He Still Loves Me