Hands wrapped around freshly picked dandelions, she comes skipping to where I stand.
Mommy, why are there so many of these pretty flowers growing in the grass? She asks.
Looking at her sweet face, I smile and draw her to me.
What many consider worthless weeds, possess beauty, in the eyes of a child.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
One of my favorites of your poems...
Cryssa
Thank you Cryssa...I'm happy that you enjoyed it, and thank you for stopping by!
Post a Comment