I miss your smell of Wind Song.
I miss your voice like bubbling joy.
I miss your hands like swirling gentle breeze in the house.
But I know that living means dying.
And I want to live. I want to live.
And you, Mom, I want you to be the dancing cherry blossoms.
Go, be the dancing cherry blossoms.
©2023, itsamyisaid.com, All Rights Reserved.
✨For my mom, who now is part of the soil beneath her beloved cherry tree. I know you can see your tree from all angles now.✨
Poem inspired by grief poetry prompt by Joseph Fasano, 2023
“It's Amy,” I said. 
Felt the warmth of this poem. ♡
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Thank you! 🤍
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Wow, that’s beautiful keeping that lovely tree well-maintained and yes your MOM could appreciate it with a beautiful smile.
Ace.
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🤍
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Such a deep pure love expression. Also from this astoundingly pretty tree. 🌸
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Thanks, Stephanie. I appreciate that. I will have updates on the blossoms. 😊🌸
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I’ll be watching ❤
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🩷
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