When I am done here,
I will be given to whom I owe everything:
Earth.

My body will become one with the soil,
and so will the invisible scars you've left me with;
and botany will bloom,
and a garden will flourish from my body,
thus making you and I:

forever.

Long after I am gone,
people will walk by at this time of night,
and if they are of the observant type,
they will see the glowing pedals in the moonlight,
and they will pause and whisper,
"Wow.
So lovely.
This has been grown will love."

And, silently, they will wonder,
"Who keeps this up?
Who trims and preens and cares for it?"

And the wind will rustle the leaves on nearby trees,
and a Black Eyed Susan will blossom before their eyes,
and they will utter a small disbelieving,
"Oh."

And that small two letter one syllable will dance
off of their tongue and into the night air,
and Luna will smile,
and that person will keep walking,
and the waves will roll on,
and the Sun will rise again.