I was waiting for a hand
To catch up with mine
But my hand was left catching
December's cold

I look over to the place
where she used to stand
Not even a fallen pedal
But her scent remains

So I followed the bees
and I saw what was out there
But none of those flowers
Were familiar to me

Where's the flower
I had picked every day?
Who's nectar had
the sweetest taste?
Who's colors were unique
In every way?

I'll keep wishing
For her scent to stay

But where's the flower
I had picked every day?