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About This Author
Well, hello. I’m still testing this.
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Angel Feathers
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You're Mama's little sunflower girl,
Smiling, happy as can be.
Facing sunshine, head in dreamy clouds,
Eyes reflecting inner glee.
With peaceful strength you grow every day
Better than ever, it's true.
Year after year, a joy to us all
I ask God's blessings for you.
Send your roots deep, scatter only love
Thrive wherever you may be.
Gathering sunlight, raindrops so pure
Give life to all we can see.
12 lines, 70 words.
9-7-9-7 syllables.
Written for "Writing 4 Kids" 
June prompt:
Write a children's poem inspired by the sunflower.
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John pulled up to Benny's Burgers in front of the grocery store, parked his car and got out, carrying a tablet. As the new district manager of the national chain, transferred from Metro Atlanta to a podunk region of coastal Florida, he wanted to visit each restaurant within his territory and get to know them better.
From the moment he walked inside, there was something different about this Benny's. The first thing he noticed was a life-size artificial wisteria tree in a wicker basket, placed by the front entry. Glancing around, he saw many other flower arrangements, large and small: one at each table setting, several lined up on the checkout counter, even one perched on top of the fountain drink dispenser, surrounded by little plastic knick-knacks.
He frowned. Fake flowers everywhere? At Benny's? That wasn't right. Rather than the usual TV mounted in the corner of the sterile tile walls, there was a painting, a copy of Monet's water lilies.
By the service counter, a poster of the Ten Commandments hung on the wall. His jaw dropped. He stared blankly at it as though it were written in a foreign language.
“Have you been helped, sir?” A young lady asked, coming to stand by the cash register.
John introduced himself and asked to see the manager. A little old lady came bustling out of the office, adjusting her gray bun.
“Good afternoon, sir! They told us you would be coming to visit. I'm pleased to meet you.”
“Same here, Mrs. Jones. Would you care to show me around?”
She guided him through the dining room, where lace cloths adorned all the tables and a floral garland with tiny lights stretched around the perimeter.
“I don't understand why you've, er, decorated the area so intricately. It's not the usual Benny's.”
“The customers like it. I even set up a kiddie corner. Everyone's happy.”
She pointed to a low table, with kid-size chairs, a stack of alphabet books, coloring pages and crayons. John shook his head in bewilderment.
“That's too close to the fountain dispenser. Honestly, ma'am, I'm afraid this is not set up to standard protocol. We want customers to have the same experience at each Benny's they visit.”
“You want me to remove all this?” She raised an eyebrow.
“It's—yes. The fake flowers are dust catchers. You can't clean them. I've been district manager over hundreds of stores, and I've never seen one with lace tablecloths or posters on the wall.”
They continued to circle the dining area. John was beginning to feel as though he were in a cozy tea shop, like an AI video. It was peculiar, yet comfortable, with a small-town charm. But it wasn't a proper Benny's Burgers!
His befuddlement grew deeper when they came to a front corner window, where a round table was arranged with a plate, a glass, an open book, a placard, and a vase of fresh flowers with a US flag tucked into it. A framed photo of a solemn man in uniform stood by the vase. Something about this mysterious display reminded John of an altar.
He leaned in closer to read the words on the sign. “To honor all our soldiers missing in action. You will never be forgotten. Your sacrifice for our country is deeply appreciated each and every day. Our prayers are with you.”
John turned to Mrs. Jones. She nodded.
“My husband,” she said quietly. “He never returned.”
“I'm sorry to hear.”
In that moment, John began to understand what he was seeing. A woman rooted in her community, providing a hometown experience to her friends and neighbors. It was something he would never be a part of, but he could leave it be.
For he knew what it felt like to lose someone on the battlefront. His own son was missing in action. Mrs. Jones unique decoration of her Benny's franchise stood as a testament to the strength of a small town, where those who defended the country were not forgotten.
Words: 663.
Written for "Honoring Our Veterans - Challenge"
Inspired by a true story.
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Enough songs have been written by now
To realize they don't change the world.
It's all very well
to rant, rave, ruminate, revile,
but in the end, words are wind.
What's needed is action
Not violence, nor a noisy protest.
Firm, quiet actions on the part of many
Can change the course of human history.
What this means in real life?
I have no idea.
When one works every day for less than one's worth,
Comes home to drown in cultural escapism,
Wakes up to do it again tomorrow,
It's hard to think about larger things.
Change is needed, but how it starts?
Within the heart.
Resolve to do better,
Be kind to your neighbor.
Yet resolutions get lost in the hullabaloo,
And we resort to base instinct.
Maybe all we can do is write:
a song, a blog, a journal entry,
a thank you note,
goals, dreams, observations,
expressing how we think things should be.
Perhaps our songs do change the world
Even if no one hears them.
28 lines, 169 words.
Written for Rachel's Beatles Challenge.
Song of choice: Revolution.
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My head jerked upright as I slouched on the concrete bench in front of the grocery store, my scruffy mutt Rufus at my feet. I needed a drink of water. I was starting to see things. Just a few minutes ago, I thought I saw an old guy wearing a pumpkin color suit and a floppy, oversized straw hat, carrying two bright green bags…
Blinking away the daydreams, I looked out at the bustling parking lot and realized I had seen him. Indeed, he was still there, walking along at a measured pace with a shopping tote in each hand, the trademark Publix shade of green.
My bleary eyes, desperate for a diversion, followed him to his car, an antique Woody Wagon in the same shade of pumpkin as his clothes. He set one tote on the ground to look through his pockets for his keys. Not finding them immediately, he set down the other tote.
He couldn't find them in any pocket at all, apparently, because he walked slowly around his station wagon, checking for an unlocked door. I felt bad for him, standing helplessly under the broiling Florida sun. No wonder he was wearing that funny hat.
I stood up, ran a hand through my greasy, unruly hair, and shuffled towards him, hoping I didn't look too disheveled. Rufus padded after me.
“Excuse me, sir, do you need some help?”
I spoke quickly, knowing his first assumption, based on appearances, would be I was asking him for money. He looked me in the eye and said, in a voice with the piping tones of a man in his eighties,
“I’m afraid I've lost my car keys. Do you think you can help me find them, young man?”
I smiled, because it had been a long time since anyone called me young.
“Sure, I'll try my best. You remember where you left them?”
“If I remembered that, I wouldn't have lost them,” he chuckled. “My name is Paul, by the way. Nice dog you have here.”
“Thanks. He's my rescue guy. I'm Louie.” I scratched Rufus behind the ears. “You think you might've left them in the store?”
“Let's see… I did have to stand at the pharmacy counter for a while, discussing my coverage. I might have left them there. Then I needed to cash a check at the return desk.”
“We'd better go in and see if anyone's turned them over.”
Paul stooped to pick up his totes. They were heavy, so I insisted on carrying them instead. At the entrance, I told Rufus to sit and stay. Publix has an “absolutely no pets inside” policy. The last thing I needed was to be unceremoniously trespassed from yet another store. Rufus wagged his tail and sat obediently in a corner, out of everyone's way.
We went to the customer service desk and asked if there were any keys handed over to lost and found. The lady checked their records, looked in a drawer, and shook her head. Next, we went to the pharmacy.
Paul plodded cautiously, picking up his feet with intention and keeping his eyes to the floor. I suspect he preferred using a cane. Perhaps he had lost it. I tried not to be too self-conscious as we walked together, one elderly well-dressed guy and one shabby bum.
The pharmacist immediately said yes, there was a set of keys which someone had left on her counter and she had sequestered for safekeeping.
“What car do you drive, sir?”
“A Ford station wagon, about forty years old. My car keys aren't those highfalutin electrical key fobs you see nowadays. Just plain old gold keys.”
“Yes, sir, that’s the ones.”
She brought them up, and we thanked her and headed back outside. Rufus waited patiently for me. A strong wind was sending clouds flying across the sky and junk flying through the parking lot as I carried Paul's totes back to his car.
One sharp gust tore his big straw hat right off of his head. It rolled and tumbled away as if it were alive. I couldn't drop the groceries to chase after it.
“Rufus! Fetch!”
It was an instinctive command, yet incredibly stupid. If the hat went in front of a car or out into the street—yikes! I prayed it would be safe as Rufus went running. Thankfully, the floppy thing got caught in some shrubbery at the corner. He grabbed it in his mouth and came trotting back triumphantly.
I took it from him, trying to wipe off the slobber.
“Here you are, sir. Good as new… just a little sticky. It'll dry out in the sunshine.”
“Thank you for all your help, Louie.” Paul adjusted the straw hat back securely on his head. “You've been a blessing.”
“It was nothing, really.”
“No, no—if you hadn't shown up, who would have carried my shopping bags? Or caught my hat? Such kindness warrants a reward.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a bill.
“Oh geez, sir, I couldn't take your money…”
The look of longing on my face belied me as I thought of how much I needed it. He pressed the hundred dollar bill into my hand and patted my shoulder.
“I pray better days are ahead of you, young man.”
“So do I. Thank you very much, Paul. It was nice meeting you.”
I shook his hand and went back to sit on the bench by the store with Rufus, calculating how many days of food I could buy for us with the money. I should save a little to get myself a sunhat, to remember Paul.
Words: 938.
Written for "Invalid Item"
And also for "Starting Stories"
Required story starter highlighted in blue.
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© Copyright 2025 Amethyst Angel 💐 (UN: greenwillow at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Amethyst Angel 💐 has granted InkSpot.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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What a MOVIE that would make. Monty Pythonesque. 
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