Bright and still, this morning warms
a flower filled lawn with memory.
Flowers? you say. They are weeds.
You do not see Daisy chains,
white gold pearls of laughter.
You do not see Buttercups,
sunspots under raised chins.
You do not see Dandelion fairies
dance to tell breath blown time.
You do not see treasure hunts
for four leaves and luck,
nibbled sweetness at the base of each petal,
how we followed the bees, they knew.
You do not see your face in this past?
Look to the glow of your children,
show them, so they remember.