She had a smile for every one,
a song for every moment.
They said she was like a basket, chock full of sunflowers.
Alone in secret she danced on the wind,
scribbled poems of deep longing and sorrow.
She knew sunflowers had dark roots.
The world thrilled her with its beauty,
overwhelmed her with its cruelty.
Life was exhilaration and pain,
a wellspring of artistic expression.
One day she disappeared.
The woman who took her place
found love and contentment,
cried less and smiled less,
forgot how to dance and write.
Remember roots, deep in the moist dark.
Nurture what abides, cultivate passion.
Reach out to the sun and the rain;
Stretch to embrace the fear.
Delve deep within for the wellsprings of joy.
Kindle the creative spark, and
Dance on the winds again.