WILD FLOWERS

He was returning from a scout
on a close late summer day
most of which had near run out
as the heat to cool gave way.

Turning into his long rutted drive
in his old pitted pick up truck
he wondered how long it would survive;
a few more years with any luck.

The bumpy way alerted him
to look around upon the world
with eyes aged though far from dim.
He saw late wild flowers had unfurled.

So he stopped....and took the riot in
of colors: yellow, blue, red and white
and on a whim decided then
to gather some flowers so bright.

Knowing wild flowers are quick to wilt
he looked for a vessel to fill up
with canteen water without silt.
He saw naught but a McDonald's cup.

So he filled it and stepped into tall grass
took out his Old Timer pocket knife
and began cutting flowers he'd pass,
a bouquet with which he'd surprise his wife.

Here were crimson clover blooms blood red.
Here were frost flowers white and blue.
Here were golden rod as in a bed
and flowers whose names he never knew.

Till soon the cup would hold no more
so he got back in his tired truck
carefully bracing the cup on dirty floor
dusty from months of dried up red muck.

He turned the key to complete his trip
and bounced the last one tenth a mile
attentive the "vase" didn't tip
unaware he wore a tiny smile.

He pulled into his parking space
got out and gently closed the door
spied then added a single Queen Anne's lace
to the arrangement on the floor.

Up the steps on creaky knees.
There sat the loved he had gathered these for
(he hoped the weeds don't make her sneeze)
a thought he should have had before.

He produced the flowers from behind his back
just as her eyes left the romance book
and a smile began with a slight crack
Then built into a loving look.