We pick flowers, knowing they will die.
We press flowers, hoping they will survive.
When flowers are picked, they die. But not always. Sometimes we love them enough to press them between the pages of a book in the hopes of preserving the beauty of their memory.
So it is when a poem is read. It dies. But not always. Like flowers, there are some poems we want to preserve, remember, and cherish. Those are the poems we press between the pages of a book.
This ebook is a collection of my pressed flowers. Those poems I wish to preserve from my retired and active books.
Thanks for supporting my work,
Bianca xo
