she walked 

towards me,

arms so full

that her face 

was unseen,

and in her grasp

both fresh 

and fragrant,

were not the 

cares of this world 

or pain experienced

–i know her well, 

she had access 

to these–

but instead,

in her arms

bursting and

barely contained 

were blooms

of softness

and grace 

and a riot 

of colour 

such as i have 

never before seen

because 

on her journey 

she had not

held on 

to troubles

or pain

no, she

had hunted

wildflowers 

~~~

©Heather Pound 2022