I'd always overlooked these flowers.
Blown bare by passing wind or breath
I picked their white haired siblings instead.
Clinched tightly in his small hand
he holds them as his precious treasures
and gathers more with each joyful step.
They stand on hillsides, fields and lawns
surrounded by younger versions of themselves.
Confident in their undecorated state.
How many times during each day
How many times during each day
do I walk right past such prolific treasures
drawn instead to flashier things?
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