crawl.
crawl until
these flowers
see the
sunlight
and bloom.
let the bees
take their
pollen
and make
honey.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poesie[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
