Molly Shaffer

in my room sits a freshly picked flower in a mason jar

its vibrant petals welcome all who pay a visit

as days go by, its yellow becomes a faded cream

I look closer and notice the wrinkles upon the petals

like the ones beginning to form around my eyes

I realize the flower is gradually beginning to die

do my wrinkles mean I am beginning to die too?

or am I slowly learning the importance of living

while I still have the chance to? I’m not sure

but I can only hope that at the end of my stay here

I can do for someone what this flower has done for me