WILTED FLOWERS
She held a bunch of wilted flowers in her small, dirty hand,
They were for her mother, she hoped mama would understand,
For they were not a real bunch of flowers for her birthday,
She had found them behind the flower shop thrown away.

They still had a sweet refreshing fragrance that filled the air,
Some could be saved, she thought, from the sad flowers there,
They needed a drink of water then they’d be quite grand
There was even with them a little bow and a pretty silver band.

On the way home she passed a ditch where some water stood,
Gave the flowers a drink, she knew it would do them good,
It appeared the water was magic the flowers became more alive,
At least for a day or two those lovely blooms would now survive.

“Mama, please close your eyes, I have a little gift just for you”
She placed the flowers on the table and they then looked like new,
The mother gasped with pleasure at those flowers so very sweet,
She could not remember when she had such a special treat.

They arranged them together in a vase all elegant and tall,
There was not one wilted flower to be seen, none at all,
The child told the story of the thrown out flowers, now so well,
They lasted a long time, and many times the tale she did tell.

A gift of love from a poor child, blessed by heaven above,
A special way that Father sent a simple gift of His great love,
A few weeks of enjoying flowers the family could not afford,
A kindly deed to brighten lives, a poor home flowers adorned.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 12 February 2004