Shyly, he lifts the flowers out of the pouch
And finds that they have been crushed by
Their travels and travails.
Still, they are his gift to her and so he
Fluffs them up the best he can and fans
Them out and holds them
Lovingly before her.
She knows of his boyhood wound: the flower
Carried so tenuously along on his bicycle
And still broken by the ride.
But, this is not the gift of a boy to a woman.
Whatever her perceptions of the gift itself,
This is a gift from a man
Tenderly to her.
Now, they join together to dance and sway.
Partially forgotten, the flowers have fallen
To the side and now
Carry only the love and not the hurt that
They used to symbolize. Look. See their
Brilliant colors become
Part of the dance.
~ by Stan Stewart
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