at the sound of a toe softly scraping the floor
the young mother turns slowly around
there to behold, stands a very young boy
with a fistful of flowers he's found
 

the mother is touched by the way that the boy
shows his love by the weeds in his hand
never has a love been deeper than this
then this love for her sweet little man
 

and as the years quickly pass, one to the next
every Mother's Day she looks forward to
a tiny bouquet made of milkweed and such
and to hear those three words, "I love you"

 

then as her health slowly fades, like yesterday’s dreams
she smiles and thinks of those tiny bouquets
that her little boy gave with no thought, but his love
it was all that she needed to make her OK

but on the saddest of days, with his mom no longer there
as people stood quietly, crying and stuff
not one word was said, as he placed a wreath by her head
made not of roses, but of milkweed and such...

© RLF