If I could describe our childhood,
I’d say it beamed bright pumpkin orange
With the soft smell of Ma’s homecooked pie.
I can’t help but smile when I think of
The way you bloomed in the light of spring.

If I could describe your suffering,
I’d call you a vibrant pumpkin rind
Whose insides rot deep in hidden pain.
I can’t help but think that I’d failed
To be the friend you needed back then.

If I could describe my life right now,
It’s beyond what I could ever dream
Yet also full of concern for you.
I can’t help but worry that you might
Not be living when I get back home.

If I could describe this man’s nature,
I’d show you he makes everything calm
The way you used to do for me.
Even here, I can’t help but watch flowers
Bloom on this flourishing pumpkin vine.