One autumn afternoon drive,
stopped by this field of zinnias,
my childhood favorite flowers
bring out the little faces from
the ancient memory,
now oldies, yet, in each petal
is the innocent face, deriding
my sentiment, questioning
the youthful departure,
demanding
to see the secret treasure box
not even exist, except my children
who reward me with wrinkles and
some laughs, turning away
from the pink faces,
hear the giggles and whispers,
just like the old days when
hide and seek on the hayloft. Say,
I’ve learned to hear song
even on stormy days.
©Byung A. Fallgren
Byung A. Fallgren 