I came across my mom’s college scrapbook the other day…
These flower corsages were taped to the first page.
The tape had yellowed with time but the flowers were amazingly still intact.
I wondered what special memories these dances held for my mom that inspired her to keep the corsages. So I wrote this poem:
Faded and fragile,
Memories like flowers,
Pressed into a book.
Slip away, quietly
Like an unsung melody.
I found such sentimental beauty and hope in these dried flowers. Sometimes it is the small things we hold dear and maybe press into a book to be discovered by someone else, some day if we make the time to notice.
Have you ever pressed a flower into a book? I hope you share the memory with me!