Most women prefer roses.
What is dear to me
is the hilltop on a windy
spring morning.
The proliferation of the
wildflowers like
a patchwork quilt
covering the hillside.
The waves of random colors
following the pure gust
of cool fresh air.
People call them weeds
but to me they are flowers
with wild free hearts.
That are as dependable
as the seasons.
They always bring me
a smile when the endless
days of winter
finaly surrender to spring.
But I love them mostly
because they remind me
of you .
My gentle giant.
You were always
the wildflower
I loved the most.