A description to die for

Old Daisy hill used to be such a pretty place, The Willems bought that farmland back in the 20's and somehow managed to survive the depression, but it wasn't easy. Scarlet Fever was spreading through our small town like a small child trying to cover the whole piece of toast in jam. The Willems lost alot, their farm stock, their money, their crops, and worst of all their youngest daughter, Daisy. She was buried under this large yew tree in the center of the hill, and everybody in the town when they came by would plant daisies on the hill, in memoriam. Later they built a small playground with those slides and swings and twirly tops so that Daisy could keep playing with the other kids. The whole hill had this tragic memento mori to it. The pale white lillies were like a blanket pulled over a corpse at a mortuary. Countless numbers of them that engulfed you in a sickly sweet scent of nostalgia, but not the good nostagia of Christmases and birthdays. This hill smelled like the nostalgia of broken bones, of angry parents, of Mother's drinking and Father's belt.  The yew tree poked out of the flesh of the earth like a broken bone, jagged and pale white. The playground itself was old, faded colors that were once vibrant reds yellows and blues but were now the color of tongues, dirty teeth and gray skies. Gone were the crowds of children that gathered on the swings and slides, all that was left was one small girl swinging lightly on the swing sets. I allowed myself to approach her.