You can keep them all-
The bouquets on the shelves
Crinkle clean wrapped
And heavy scent filled.
Leave the cards unwritten
Print-run verses
Hidden in unopened folds
Cellophane sealed.
“You do a good job, Mum.”
Backslapped over boiling kettle.
“I made you this.
It’s a bit dead…squashed
In my pocket from the park.”
It’s perfect.
A daisy caterpillar;
Remembrance of our first summers.
It smells like a hundred
Freeform life-rich days.
“Thank you. I’ll keep it.”
We both laugh, hugging.
“I know you will. I know you well.“