Call me
The girl with flowers.
Flowers in her
Chestnut hair.
She clocks in her hours.

Smiles away.
Grime under naked nails.
Gets ready
For the grind
As she gathers up her pails.

Waters and whittles.
Pours her heart into every pour.
Trying to make
An impression on
Viewers of the store.

Wrenching
In her harmonious heart,
She picks out
The dead
And tosses them onto the cart.

Brings to the back,
Never to be seen
By eyes that need
To brighten their lives
With pink and green.

She brings forth nurture,
Love, and care
To each of her
Bountiful blessings
Caught in her summery snare.