One Simple Rose Petal

When we were but wee ones
and watched drifting clouds
upon wayward happenstance,
our little minds played make-believe
and imagination reconfigured the sky.

Not too many years distant, we spent
our mid-summer mornings rolling
on clover covered hills, the sweet
smell in our hair and clothes jumped rope
among late afternoon oak trees; later, playing
hide and seek in the grove's after-dusk orange.

We raced our bicycles through autumn streets,
fallen leaves floating up in zooming tires'
whooshing wake; we zig-zagged by mud
puddles on our way to the creek in the field
marsh where we caught frogs in our hands
and collected tadpoles in glass jars.

We hunted through flower beds' honeysuckle
trellised patios trying to catch butterflies
with index finger and thumb; often, they
fluttered all around us, staying just beyond
our grasp, so we'd giggle off to the swing
set and try to soar above the Sun.

I used to pick four daisies every single
school day to bring home to Mommy;
sometimes, I found some marigolds to add
to her bouquet, but I never found even one
simple rose petal that human minds could sway.