There is a field by my house full of flowers
daisies, daffodils, dandelions, and more
during the summer they bloom in a beautiful combination of color
and dance together in the warm wind
filling the air with a mixture of sweet scents
like a perfume shop you walk by
only looking in when vanilla, lavender, and sandalwood
all combine into one curious scent and fill the air around you.
Every day a boy would visit this field
and sit for hours on end
filling a notebook with drawings of the plants
as he watched the world grow around him
listening to the earth beneath his toes.
He came every day, rain or shine
and on the especially dry summer days
he would bring a red wagon full of watering cans
encouraging the plants to see another day
with a splash of water and a warm grin.
But one day
for some unknown reason
perhaps because the weather was turning cold
or he found a new way to spend his days,
his visits became less and less frequent
and without his cheer or care
the flowers began to wilt
and no one noticed.
A roaring winter came, burying the flowers in a field of white
leaving the drowning plants clinging to the hope that their friend
would return when the sun came back to warm the earth again.
But he never did.