Essense of This Afternoon

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Barely can I put words
to the essenc of
this afternoon

She strolled through her
mother's garden, wistfully
stopping often

To smell the flowers,
brush the grass with
her palm

I came to her quietly
humbly in the
hot sun

"Ma'am, may I join you?"
Bashful, hopeful, hopeless
"Yes, Tom"

We walked in silence,
her short stride slowing us
to a hum

Bees buzzed, sweat dripped
Flowers sang a
gentle hym

Bold as ever, though not
by confidence if
only on a whim

"Would you tell me
the story of this flower,
if I sit."

Nod, smile, and she
plucks a bud, for us
And begins.