The Plant That Was Once

I was in my adobe house, with my daughter. she swung cheerfully, played in the shadow, of the plant, in the rear of my house. She would fancy, at the soft flight, of the butterfly, the quick up-rise of the squirrel, on the branch, of the plant. she enjoyed, when the branch would bend down with crow’s weight. I saw the glint of a glass house, in the outskirts, of the city, that was once a place of numerous plants lined beautifully. the glare of the glass house roused the devil in me, for an action, so wicked my powers dissipated and, Satan’s strengthened. I cut the plant with a tearful adieu, a spell of heavy rain left my house a wide plain. then, I was in my glass house, in the city. and, my daughter in her room, before her computer. she saw the plant, on the screen, of her computer, and the crow too. she felt strange, would neither talk nor laugh but often miss the plant that was once there. and, the butterfly, the crow would call her silently, and, the squirrel too. she would weep and a stream of her tears flowed down on the marble floor. I sat close to her in search of my lost happiness Asking; why was my love in despair? wiping my tears, She said, “When my plant would come back, So would the verdure, Your daughter would never weep, So would my father, for sure.”