She didn't know her.
But she left a little wild flower
On my grandma's grave.
She picked it and walked right to the spot
And left it there
While her dad and I watched.
She came back to us
Somehow understanding life and death perfectly.
I kissed and rubbed her head.
"It was just a weed," she told her dad.
"No. It was much more than that," he said.


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