Sunday started slow, With my mom at home and warm meal served. Mom had plans: to go nursery for a pot, So I tagged along, with the weather nice and all.
Leaves still wet, with clouds covering the sky in monsoon grey. We wandered slow, letting all the greenery catch our eyes. She looked for a pot, something for her croton, But my eyes laid on a small pot at the top.
Carved with birds and fields of grain, Too pricey, yes—but still remained in my sight. She frowned, I spoke, not begged, just tried, And somehow, she let the price slide.
I found a succulent to place inside, small and neat, Its simple green felt whole, complete. Lovely sunday memory, with a pot, a plant, a little roam— A gentle way to feel at home.
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