Poetry

Once upon a time I had two flowers I bought with lessons that others had learned. I asked one if they could survive in the dark. She answered yes. I did this twice. In the middle I bought a flower that was large just for me. Unlike the others I placed it near the sun after I discovered the others didn't last in the shade. It's still alive and flourishing under the money tree next to the sun. And I'm certain the flowers in the shade of other people's houses survived just like I asked. Doing what's best for one's self isn't always something that can be told, and yet if I hadn't I wouldn't have learned from experience. Is this a constriction or poetic water. It's not. I feel like a regular talker today, and if I only aligned with being good in the standard of something someone else had, I wouldn't have the freedom I presently enjoy. And yet I like walking on the water that Jesus had previously wept in. I can laugh there instead.