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Gathering Flowers

As a child,
Gathering flowers in a meadow,
I spend these hours
By your side, dear Mother.

Happily, you kiss each bloom,
I offer, playfully, to your lips.
Bunching them as a bouquet,
I press them into your hands,
And you, as mother’s do,
Press them to your heart.

Copyright 2014 Joann Nelander