"I am a child in a field picking dandelions and popping their heads off toward your general direction.
I'm too young to care about the grass stains on my white dress and
I'm too naive to understand that these flowers we are picking are just weeds.

I know that in a matter moments I will leave the field and be an uninvited guest at a funeral again. In a room clouded with sadness, I'm weighed down with fear.
I'm standing next to a coffin, wearing a clean black dress, looking at the excessive flowers; remembering a time that I was happy.
...