Petals Pressed Between Sonnets

A collection of books, the sonnets gather,

she presses petals between each page,

trying to make them last, as they wither like leaves,

sadly fading away with age.

Life so short, passing so quickly,

yet the day can feel so long.

Blood, sweat, tears, fears,

breaking points between knowing what is right and wrong.

The sonnets her comfort,

to grant some substance within the world’s ways.

Deepened breath, she cries her tears upon the flowers,

another death, pink fading into brown, between each page,

where her heart stays.

“Why must they wither, wilt, beauty disappearing?”

but these questions answered as she watches tiny seeds floating through the air,

drifting along to another place,

where another can view, press the petals within a book, someday to share.

The days grow cold,

she sees the lines in the mirror,

silvery strands of hair, she grows old,

she watches the sun dance through clouds, sweetly gold.

Her time sadly fading away with age,

but no longer sad, as she leaves behind substance within the world‘s ways,

a collection of books, the sonnets gather together, between each page,

to be found, generations later,

where her heart stays.

A great-grandchild opens to reveal, pink petals unfading,

between sonnets that sing of life and laughter, each page something new,

beyond blood, sweat, tears, and fears,

she whispers, "I love you"

Deepened breath, she watches tiny seeds floating through the air

her spirit dancing in youthful beauty, whispers to those in heart,

in the petals pressed between sonnets,

that she will always be there.