In a town called alice falls on a certain street is a house small and cosy within this house lives and old lady who go's by the name of grand mother willow her hair was was a lovely red that can stand out she has the kindest of hearts and is loved by my Many. She loves it when pepole come to visit her garden of flowers to admire all her hard work .
Grand mother willow says that" every flower weather it be the petals or leaves, stem or roots each flower is different and they all tell another person's life as a story.
When I asked " why are they all different and none are the same?" She would reply with "everyone's storys are different they start the same but end differently like a seed to a flower there is no one with the same ending as the rest"
Grand mother willow was almost at her age limit of 101 years old she lived a wonderful life family and friends gathered around to wish her goodbye I rembered her saying that there was 100 flowers and told me to count them everyday
Grandmother willow is gone I own her house the garden is still here while I count under the dark gery sky "98,99,100........101" one flower was there not in its place a beautiful rose it's petals soft and an astonishing shade oh red it stood out from the rest just like grand mother willow
246 Words Me: dude I wrote this so long ago probably 10 years old and yet I can't write any other storys Dark: nicely done I say nicely done
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