She's the loveliest, most delicate,
Smallest bloom in the bouquet,
Nurtured, nourished, treasured, cherished,
Surviving barely in her way.
Life's storms could not destroy her,
Neither floods, nor hail, nor wind,
Alive, alive, despite it all,
To give, to share, what lay within.
The little flower gave and gave,
And, in her giving, gave some more,
Precious spirit never failing,
Though leaves and stem long worn and sore.
Picked gently by the hand of God,
To grace His heavenly bouquet,
Reluctantly, we'll give her up,
If our smallest bloom must go away.

(For Bunny)
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright 2001

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