
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.
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✨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
