Inspired by the last stanza of the poem "If You Forget Me" by Pablo Neruda
Wildflowers have no expectations beyond the soil,
make no churlish demands for more -
light comes to caress them and they slowly rise,
these small, significant things
completely content to whisper fragrance
beneath the breadth of sky with tales of mountains
they once knew and never forgot.
The clarity of love understands the gift
of a single flower in an otherwise barren field.
Elaborate packaging is not required
to declare it as precious, to claim it as pure.
Once, love arrived on a silver stallion,
but only in dreams. Upon awakening,
we smelled dew upon the grass and knew
what was most important. We did not need
fables and fairy tales to tell us what mattered most,
what we should seek when the sun ascended.
A single seed is the beginning of infinity;
it is planted where roots will form unseen.
Emerald grass parts slightly to make room
for beauty coming from far below,
a glistening companion at dawn.
A moment is a memory is a lifetime.
Once the soul is touched, the imprint remains,
a still-warm ember that does not burn.