It’s often just a little thing
That touches heart and soul,To fill an empty place in me
And make the broken whole.
The simple blossom, bright and sweet,
Among her faded kin,
Still blooming, purple in the dusk,
The daylight growing thin.
She could have given up, herself,
But she bloomed cheerily.
Making the best of her last days,
By living faithfully.
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