Mark Windham: “Different Flowers”

Different Flowers

I used to bring her here
on summer mornings,
a field of flowers when
a bouquet would not do.
A blanket, a basket and
each other enough to fill
hours of isolation.

A playground is now
the only open space,
some paths, trees for shade.
Cars pass on each side.
We show up early
to avoid the heat,
claim a bench while
things are still quiet,
sip coffee as we wait.

Now we fill our mornings
with the joy of children
squealing in swings,
new blooms to
decorate our field.

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