He Was Life

The last memory she had of him, 
Was when he lay still in her arms,
Stiff already, 
Past memories were not even hazy, 
She just couldn’t remember them, 
She buried him the same day, 
A plant over his grave,
She wept all night,
At the thought of leaving him,
Alone in the empty fields,  
She went back weeks later, 
Expecting to see the ground evened out,
And it had, but also,
The plant had flowers in them, 
And butterflies flew around, 
That day, he was back, 
He was the flower, 
He was the flutter in the wings of the butterfly, 
He was life. 

-Yet Another Thing.

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