Tears water the seeds as the young widow plants her garden.
Over the years, she caresses each bloom as she remembers her late husband.
The flowers have listened daily to her tales,
Stretching their stems to hear more clearly when her voice drops to a whisper.
One day the widow speaks to someone other than her flowers;
The blooms see no one, but hear her talking to ghosts of the past come to share her garden.
At her passing, the entire garden misses her touch, her voice, her presence.
Truly, love has made this garden grow.
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