Flowers in a dream

Last spring, I planted carnations.
In my little garden, they bloomed tirelessly
until the chill of winter arrived.
Even their fierce vitality
could not withstand
the piercing winds of deep winter.
Now that spring has returned,
not a single trace remains.
But last night,
I saw a carnation glowing like an eternal flame,
burning with silent brilliance.
Beside it bloomed two small flowers,
smiling shyly in the quiet.
All creations must fade.
But if someone remembers,
then it hasn’t truly disappeared.
Longing is the warmest trace
left by existence.