By Ullie Fitzhugh
Date: 14 March 1998
THERE WERE FLOWERS
You came in smiling
like a young boy,
Your hands gently cradling roses.
Beautiful, fragile, ephemeral delights
You compared them to me,
after I had given them sufficient praise.
(I must admit, I scoffed at the suggestion
of such a comparison,
only to treasure it now)
Your next loving gift
was buttercups,
picked from a nearby field.
I relished the idea that you would
take the time to collect this bounty,
and it became the actual gift for me
All through the years
there were flowers,
yes, even blooming weeds,
short-lived like their bearer, but
as gifts, eternal as you have been
in my memory
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