Short Sunflower Poem Novels & Stories

I don’t know what to do, or who to believe anymore! I thought the fresh air from the sunflower meadow I’m currently threading in would blow this maze in my head away, but instead, I feel trapped. The air, though chill, felt too thin against my skin. And it carried with it silence synonymous with a funeral’s march. The only thing I found comforting was the soothing scent of the flower, and the soft feel of its petals against the pad of my thumb.

he said, motioning to a bare patch near the fence. I crouched down, squinting. “Looks like dirt.” “It’s going to be sunflowers.” I raised an eyebrow. “Confident.” He shrugged. “They take time. But once they come, they tower over everything.” “Like us?” “Exactly like us.” We stood there in silence for a moment, his hand brushing mine, until I felt that familiar flutter low in my belly. I gasped, turning to him. “What?” he asked. “They kicked.”

I told myself this was tactically interesting and nothing else. By day seven I had stopped telling myself that. On day eight Ruby brought oats with strawberries arranged on top with a care that was its own form of hostility, and stood watching me from the doorway while I considered the tray with the expression of someone who was genuinely sorry to cause inconvenience. "I'm so sorry," I said warmly. "Strawberries give me hives. And the oats look like they've been waiting a while. I don't want to trouble you with something I won't be able to eat."

When I open the door, Hunter is standing there holding a bouquet of sunflowers, their bright yellow faces almost as brilliant as his shy smile. "I saw them at the market," he says, running a hand through his hair. "They reminded me of you." "Sunflowers remind you of me?" I take the flowers, inhaling their earthy sweetness. "They face the sun. Always reaching for light, even when everything around them is dark." His eyes meet mine. "Like you do." My throat tightens. This is the Hunter I fell in love with—the one who saw poetry in ordinary moments, who made me feel like I was worth something beautiful.

The sunflowers sway and dance around me, their heads bobbing in a silent greeting. A smile tugs at my lips as I reach out to brush my fingertips across the soft petals of the nearest flower. Its vibrant yellow is warm and cheerful against the blue sky. For a moment, I can forget. Forget the cage I'm trapped in, the bars around my soul. Here in this garden, with the sunflowers as my companions, I'm free. I don't see Jose anywhere. And Jennifer might be busy with breakfast. But I need to show this to someone and share my happiness.

The garden is alive with activity, yet it is also a peaceful oasis, away from the hustle and bustle of the world outside. I close my eyes and let the gentle breeze wash over me, rustling the leaves and petals around me. The sun is warm on my face, and I can feel its gentle touch soothing my soul. As I open my eyes, I notice a particularly beautiful flower near me. It is a bright yellow sunflower, its petals reaching out towards the sky. I reach out and touch the soft, velvety petals, marveling at their texture. The scent is light and sweet, reminding me of summer days and carefree moments.

ADA Peace and quiet. That was all I felt at the moment. Once again, I had one of those dreams where I knew I was unconscious, yet the realism of it all arrested me. I found myself in what appeared to be a magical garden, bathed in sunshine, filled with colourful blooms all around me. Amongst the other flowers, the sunflowers stood out from the rest, all standing proud yet peaceful. Their yellow petals were broad and cheerful, and I chose to see them as the perfect embodiment of summer itself. Even though I knew I was asleep, I wouldn't have minded staying there for a while.

he says with a small smile, “Yeah, but you understood it for what it was.” He says nothing, his hands busy with serving the food, I swallow. When I told the story of sunflowers keeping me alive, there were memes made of out of it. My dreary days at Sweet Home was made colorful because of a patch of sunflowers my neighbors kept by their windowsill that faced where I slept. For some reason I was fascinated by it, and told myself, I would either run away or... kill myself when it wilted, it never did.

“It’s part of a poem. ‘Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snowbank steam.’ We studied this poem when we were in elementary school. I have no idea why he felt the need to write it down.” 'Come with rain, O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester; 'Give the buried flower a dream; Make the settled snowbank steam.' Indeed, it was a poem taught in elementary schools.

Apparently, she made friends with the dogs she was backing at beforehand, it was cute and kind of scary when they started sniffing each other's body in sync. I unhooked the chain from Chelsea's black collar and watch amusedly as she ran behind one of the Sofas in the sitting room and plopped down in a comfortable spot. * You're a sunflower. And sunflowers are rare. That's why you're called 'Fay', Cause sunflowers are like sunrays. I bit on the cover of my pen as I took in what I just wrote, words that popped into my head just now. I bit my teeth wearily, am I like sun rays?