Sweet soft powdery scent,
Your warm tiny body held in my little hand,
And our cord still pumping,
I gaze at you and hear the name "Celine" whispered from the corners of my head.
I can sometimes still feel you in my hand if I position just right.
Your blanket no longer smells of that sweet powdery scent but I press it to my chest evermore.
My tears burn of violet essence as they roll onto your blanket.
The cry I wish I heard haunts me more than anything.
The most delicate flower I have ever seen has been diminished into ash and put in this small heart shaped container.
Although beautiful nothing compares to a flower still connected to mother earth basking in the sun and swaying in a light breeze.
In a field of wild flowers you stand out and I can still smell your sweet soft powdery scent.
Your skin as soft as flower petals,
Your nose as small as a delicate leaf,
And the cord no longer pumping similar to a flower being plucked from the ground.
As I know too well a flower once picked will soon meet its demise.
But you are the most beautiful flower, and I will never forget the scent of you,
The feel of you,
Nor can you ever be replaced.
Finding the most perfect flower is impossible and I did.