sitting in the pink daisies. smelling the yellow bees.
eating the ripe green grass. while feeding your
mothers cookies to the trees. is it love? or just the
light soothing feel of compassion when it is most
needed? shifting to the left, falling off the picnic
basket. hiding under the blankets from embarrasment. a
friend is found there. a friend that sticks around all
day. a friend that smells of lush gardens. a gentle
touch and it is all okay. can you touch love? can you
smell love? why is it pink, but unstaining, yet the
darkest stain of all. maybe for the better, maybe for
the worst.