Who’s to say where beauty lies? 

It springs forth in unusual places at times.

If we learn to perceive and embrace it. 

Love’s like a wildflower weed.


Some nurture roses.

Those single buds

Though gratifying

Do not sustain me.


Others plant bulbs

Their riot of color

Though most delightful

Does not appease me.


No gardener will I ever be

Still there is a flower

That does bloom for me

My wildflower weed.


A blossoming so innocent and pure

A gift of providence’s unexpected allure.

So, love has finally taken root in me,

This man, my wildflower weed.