She yanks the beige flowered towel, Down from the rack it tumbles to the floor. Scowling, she vows to place it, Within the closet, deep. Washing sweet soil covered hands, Reaching for a safe towel, She considers the finished act, Honor for him, gone now. Rosemary small with potential for Robust growth of herbie memories, Gently placed in the soil To remember when synapses fail. Water, sun, soil, love; Rebirth; new form. ~Regina Holt