You could have bought a bunch of grapes
at the corner shop, plump and juicy
for us to eat in bed. You might have
brought me chocolates, the ones
with praline centres I can’t resist.
You could have offered wine, as you often did,
to enhance the meal we were going to share
You might even have telephoned…
Instead, you were late because you’d meandered
up the lane picking wild flowers, forgetting the time.
My irritation on the doorstep, hands stuffed in pockets,
melted into tearful pleasure as you thrust
an abundance of wild flowers into my arms;
a gift of grasses, poppies, cornflowers,
daisies, thrift, and countless other treasures
I knew then that our love would outlast
the pettiness of arguments, the wild flowers
and their warm summer scent.