Little yellow flowers grow on the crumbling bricks of a ruined building.
They dance in the warm spring air, they bring life to stillness and desolation.
Their faint smell mixes with the sour odour of decay and makes it complex:
no longer one note of sadness, but a palette to chose from.
They bring joy to my eyes.
In time, my eyes will turn to dust and – who knows – may be made into bricks
for little yellow flowers to grow on.
I would be glad to repay the favour.
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