I hear your call.

Offered beauty.

No, a rose on a tombstone.

You feared that you might dry alone and return to the earth.

But your value is more important to me.

You are not fated to rot in the rain.

***

You offered me a garden.

Let me make you mine.

A keepsake pressed between the pages of a well loved book.

If a bookshelf has enough flowers, it becomes a slice of nature again.

Lost between preserved wood and petals.

I never mind losing my way with you.

***

The pigment might fade.

It only transforms into something that could last in the end.

I never kept them for the color of the petals but the meaning.

It came from your garden and was tended to with so much care.

A piece of two different worlds.

Bonded by both you and me.

***

Let the flower be my answer.

Proof of beauty beyond the flower.

Showing that your garden truly exists.

That I have one as well.

That life has sun and not just shade.

And the good can exist in between.