Heather Jephcott writes

A Little Girl (A rambling garden poem)

I think a little girl

is picking my flowers.

I will not say she's stealing

because

she and I

are friends.

I looked for the flowers

today

I'd seen them

yesterday

happy

standing up on the bush

but today

they were

all gone.

Yes, I think this little girl

is picking my flowers,

particular ones

that die quickly

not long after

being taken away

from the bush,

cut off from their

only possible home.

Now, one day

I think I will need to teach

this little girl

that some flowers

are for picking

and enjoying inside

while others

lose their beauty

as soon as they leave home.

I remember rather clearly

the same lesson

when I was young.

It made me sad

because I loved azaleas

and the wealth of varieties

just below our kitchen window

but I was told

and did discover too

that they did not live long

away from their bush home.

I also remember a difference

my father liked flowers

out in the garden

my mother loved to have cut flowers

both specialized in beauty, splendour,

creating and designing.

Perhaps I am a bit of them both.

Picking wild flowers in a meadow -- Alexander Averin