Written by Juliana Hill

How do I grow when you’ve gone,
When the earth feels empty, barren, and wrong? 

Spring’s gentle whispers fill the air,
But you’re not here—how can I bear?
The flowers bloom, the birds they sing,
Yet your absence echoes, a silent sting.

How do I turn these graves to bloom,

When the soil still carries the weight of doom?

The world insists that life must turn,
That seeds must sprout and fires must burn.

But how do I find the strength to rise, 

When I can’t see through these tear-filled eyes?

I stand at the edge of where you lay,

Wondering how to find my way.
Can the roots of grief take hold and grow,
Or must they simply wither slow?
But the earth, in its wisdom, seems to say,

“Even in death, there’s a path to clay.
A garden can grow where ashes fall,
And love, though lost, can bloom after all.”

So I plant my heart, unsure, but true,
In the soil of memories, tender and blue.

Spring may bring growth, though bittersweet,

For in the garden of loss, love still beats