She raises the garden,
She waters the flowers everyday
She makes sure they have enough sunlight
The pink peonies,
The red roses,
The yellow tulips,
They are alive.
During the spring they bloom, aromatic and elegant
In the summer they are alive
In the fall they wither and shrivel up
And in the winter they die.
Like a flower through the seasons,
She is alive in the summer time
And in the fall she begins to wither and shrivel up, shrunken with age.
She can no longer water the flowers.
She sleeps in her room all day and night
Winter comes as gentle as a feather’s fall
Trees are bare
The air is frosty,
Insects no longer buzzing
In her room, there is a stillness in the cold air
The bed, empty
No one makes sure the flowers have enough sunlight
No one waters them everyday
No one raises the garden.
The pink peonies,
The red roses,
The yellow tulips,
They are dead.
--Brooke V., 9th-12th Grade