The Bottle

A bottle of Jack rests on the shelf in the garage.

Alone and empty it sits, waiting for what?

To be replaced by another just like it?

To be exchanged for one better?


Gathering dust, the bottle sits.

No more swigs to be taken.

There’s no use for it anymore.

Especially not on days like this.


Days like this no longer spent sitting.

Sunny spring days to take full advantage of.

Flowers planted, cared for, and cut.

The bottle finally has a use.


One single red tulip, by little hands it was picked,

Is now housed in the once empty useless bottle.


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