It is, i’m sure, not my job to hand you over to another.
It’s not my place to say, ‘absolutely; onward’.
But for some time I have watched you grow a little taller; watched you smile a little wider.
For some time I have heard you laugh a little louder; sing a little longer.
You, my darling, have always been a flower.
Some time ago, though, you were perhaps a little wilted.
Some time ago, more of your petals than we would care to mention were tinted black.
Some time ago, you were beautiful, and perfect, and absolutely ignorant to it all.
But now, not for now but forever, you are verdant.
For now you are flourishing, are growing, are alive.
You have dug your roots into the ground and, accidentally perhaps, tangled your roots with the other flowers in the garden.
They call that, I believe, a flower arrangement.
Whatever they call it, I believe, is surely not enough.
I have waited, much as you have, for you to catch the sun.
And here you are, my darling, leaning towards its light.
I would pick you every day, would that I could.
But, much like the pennies we pick up for luck, flowers are better given away.
It is, I’m sure, not my job to hand you over to another, beautiful as you are.
Happier though, I could not be, to see you planted alongside someone else.
For, two flowers have never looked so bright, so grand, so impressive, as you and yours do.
And so, we three, and all others who are lucky enough to watch your seasons come and go, today and forever,
will pour water, open windows, and shed light.
You do not need it of course, but we will.
It is, i’m sure, not my job to hand you over to another.
It’s not my place to say, ‘absolutely; onward’.
But no sense of pride, no enjoyment of colours and beauty, will ever quite reach today’s.
Because now you laugh a little louder; sing a little longer.
So, simply, ‘absolutely; onward’.
Scott McGinn 