Just a little something to share with all those mothers in our lives...

Flowers for Mother's Day

by

Richard A. McCullough

Billy didn't have any reason he just thought of it and did it.

There was old grumpy Gertrude Simpson's flower bed and he was, walking right by.

So he grabbed a handful, spilling broken petals off too ripe blossoms all over the ground.

But a few made it all the way clutched in his dirty fingers. He punched the door bells of every lady he knew.

And delivered a little broken bouquet into every lady's hand.

Some were old and wrinkled and they shook and trembled the little offered blossoms.

Some were young and fluttered cradling the tosseled blossoms like one would handle a wounded bird.

But they all smiled each and every one.

The young girls suddenly transformed to ladies subtly drawn taller and gracious.

Their eyes speaking a wisdom that they themselves hardly knew.

And the older ladies their stiff old faces thawed and they looked bashful and coquettish glowing with an almost forgotten youth.

Grumpy Gertrude was the last. Billy's battered tennis shoes bearing the evidence of her ravaged flower bed, anchored themselves to the boards of her front porch.

His soil streaked thumb punched the door bell. His blue eyes staring out of a freckled face.

He heard Gertrude unlock the door, saw her shadowed features grumbling behind the screen door.

And when she had opened it just far enough to demand what this little hoodlum wanted?

Billy withdrew the last battered bouquet from behind his back and holding it out to her, said

"Happy Mother's Day, Mrs. Simpson."

Gertrude Simpson cried. Holding the little towhead against her breast she cried.

And seeing her decimated flower garden she tried to be angry. But when he told her what he had done.

Gertrude thought of all the years she had carefully tended that garden and never once had anyone brought her any flowers.

So, she held him and looked back across all the years and cried.

Billy wondered about the mysteries of "women" and knew that he would never understand.

Write on...

Richard

For more of my poetry click here Richard's Poetry

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