Dear Wildflowers,
How does it feel to be the moons favorite child?
How about the suns personal treasure?
You're born in the spring,
Bloom in the summer,
And creep into our hearts in the winter months.

Dear Wildflowers,
How does it feel when the rain falls on your petals
Washing away your impurities?
Teach me how to guide the wind.
Teach me how to live life
Simple and Easy.

Dear Wildflowers,
How does it feel to be free?
To have no boundaries?
Share with me your secret,
How did you do it?
Did you charm them with your beauty?
Or do you simply have the strength?

Dear Wildflowers,
I envy you.
You're so beautiful,
Graceful as you dance together,
Mimicking the movement of the waves,
Magnifying it.

Love,
Every teenage girl who has ever gazed out the wind,
Across the lawn,
And into life's eyes.

I wish I had a talent for drawing men.
To paint a picture with my brushes,
Sketch his jaw strong and straight.
I would make him with shaggy black hair to cover his eyes.
He'd carry a dagger and a young woman's heart.
And behind those eyes of his there'd be a story beyond compare.

I wish I had a talent for drawing girls.
I'd make her graceful and beautiful,
Just one stroke of the hand and her eyes alight.
She'd have flowing gold hair,
Wings to fly her high,
And love in her eyes.

I wish I had a talent for drawing flowers.
I'd draw a bouquet from him to her.

I wish I had a talent for drawing horses.
She'd ride upon the majestic stead,
Far and wide she'd search for him,
Just to sneak a peek at the smile he wore.

I wish I had a talent for drawing.
I could paint a picture worth a thousand words.
But then I remember where my talent lies,
Between the black and white lines.

I could make the man wield the dagger,
Either to save or hurt her.
I could make the girl fly high into the sky,
Or low to the depth of hell.
I could make the flowers give her joy,
Or end her life with the polluted smell.
I could make the horse run all the way,
Or collapse and never reach its goal.

I have a talent, the most dangerous of all.
Whatever I write,
Whatever I wish,
Is in my command.

Up on the chair he stood sneaky and proud.
The grin on his face gave it all away.
This boy was doing something not allowed,
He was sneaking into Fathers room.

He had curly brown hair to frame his boyish face.
Big brown eyes stared up with wonder.
He wore faded overalls over his cream shirt,
It was obvious he didn't belong.
But when he smiled at me,
It was hard not to lose all sense of mind,
To not right him off his wrong,
And send him on his way.

He stood with no shoes on an old wicker chair.
Up high on his tiptoes, higher than me.
Those small greedy hands reached up in pursuit
Of the only thing on the long pale wall.

"What are you doing," I asked in a voice much unlike my own.
It was southern and sweet,
With a grown up allusion.
"Nothin' ma'am. Just lookin'."
In seconds he was gone,
Left from Fathers room.

I had to hold back a chuckle
As I took away the chair.
The boy was trying to steal Father's time.
He was trying to make the world stop spinning,
To save my broken heart.

He took her by the wrist and gently placed a brush in her hand.
She dipped it in a bottle of pastels,
And under His watchful eye
She drew a sky with all the colors before her.
A shade of blue glowed on the page,
And in the distance birds cawed.

Once He nodded in approval
Her brush painted a scene of love and silent tears.
Houses appeared on the page,
Each with more meaning then the next.
Gradually the scene changed,
As things do with age.

Her brush faltered,
Painting a scene in all blacks and blues.
She shaded her face until only the tears showed.
The painter stubbornly looked down,
Ignoring the face of beauty looking down at her,
Ignoring the gentle touch on her wrist.
She painted scenes of confusion and pain,
Worry and death.
She became ignorant and blind,
Forgetting the setting she had once loved before.

The painter suddenly noticed her mistake,
And once again found Him and the guidance He gave.
He whispered his plan to her
And her brush danced across the page with a renewed hope.
She painted all the joys in colors of yellow,
All the little hints of love in various tints of red.
Times of growth and understanding leaped off the page in vibrant greens.
She didn't hesitate to paint the sorrows,
Knowing that was what He wanted her to see.

And on the seventh day, He rested.
The girl, old and wise from the life she led,
Became a lifetime younger.
She curled up into His arms,
Like a child on a cold night.
He smiled down at her and she set down her brush,
Retiring to heaven
To admire the painting they had created.