Flowers

When I was a little girl
I loved plucking the flowers
Growing on the side of the road.
Drawn by their fragrance and colors,
And their soft petals and buds,
I loved crushing them with my fingers.

When I became a teenager,
I was enamored by the flowers
That I received as gifts in bouquets.
I would put them in books and papers
Leaving them to dry between the pages
And marvel at how beautiful they were.

When I grew into a woman,
I was mesmerized by the flowers
That were woven into garlands.
I would wear them in my hair.
The air would bear their fragrance.
I felt it enhanced my beauty for hours.

In the autumn of my life,
I am reminded by the flowers
Of the moments of bygone times.
Yet, I don’t pluck, crush, dry them in papers
Or for beauty, yearn for their sacrifice.
I’m just happy when they bloom…in bowers.