*The church by the flower market*

*The church by the flower market*


She was sitting on the sidewalk,

Watching as people walk by-

The old lady in the flower market.

She reminded me of my grandma.


Same wise eyes,

Same smile.

Gerbera daisies, grandma’s favorite.

I bought some flowers but didn’t know


What to do with them,

So I left them at the altar

In the little church by the flower market.

I think God understood.




Sometimes, somehow

*Sometimes, somehow*

The years go by,
Running through your fingers,
And forming memories.

Sometimes, somehow,
A memory comes up.
A part of who you were.

It passes through your mind,
Goes into your eye
And tears it up.





This song

tastes like oranges,

Smells like fall

and rain.


I doubt that words

can have a taste.

But memories do.

A bittersweet one.



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