My plant is sickly.
Her hair like leaves are dry and brittle on the ends.
She looks so sad as I trim her locks.
I'm glad she can't look down at the pile of straw like hair scattered all around her.
Scattered around her like hair on the floor at the barbers.
I talk to her quietly.
Encouraging her, lifting her up.
My hands stroke her hair leaves.
Gently softly almost begging her to not die.
I don't want to lose yet another.
I feel the pangs of loss.
Even though loss hasn't lost yet.
But I feel…I know
Nothing is forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem