Bouquet

Age 5, or so, doesn’t matter.
Not quite the age of reason
But of memory, taking in snippets,
Filed in F for feeling.

Filed to fly back unwelcome as I walked today,
Age 39, past grass dotted with tiny yellow buds.

She was a friend? A neighbor?
Mother loved her, she was a delicate, fragile girl with long limbs and thin…

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