Her scent comes and goes with a flash,
Bright and suave like a summer haze,
As I shield the things she once touched,
And grow vigilant at her confounded ways,

Life is not about anything limited,
To the five senses or a selfish moment,
She once said with pressed flowers,
In her hair that glossed my eyes with awe,

And her garden peaches were the sun,
When she'd push me in the summer,
One in hand on my creaky swing,
And she had the aura of a majesty,

Like the Morning Glories of our dusks,
Wilted and vibrant fighting to see her
eyes shine,
As the ornamented the picket fence,
That caged us in but she remained free,

And as her scent fades one last time,
I imagine that fence and the peaches,
What she would've said without trying,
In the bright and suave summer haze.