He asked me one summer sitting in the pot, or three measly stems, holding but one flower. You won't let me grow, I answered. He looked at me, perfectly aligned with what on paper could be described as the most beautiful flower, and felt not one bit of joy. All he saw were his painstaking efforts to keep me in order, his money spent on soil, water and pots. He saw all of his failures. He took the pot outside
I especially love that the poem ends quite hopefully and that the cosmos, the flowers, realize it's all up to me now. It's a really great ending and a great conclusion. I'm so glad that they have taken root and flowers in their own way. So thank you so much for sharing