Gathering Flowers
As a child,
Gathering flowers in a meadow,
I spend these hours
By your side, dear Mother.
Happily, I offer each flower to your lips. You kiss each bloom,
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
Be Holy! 