BRIGHT FLOWER

Give me not fame or fortune;
those I only wanted when I was young.

Now I humbly seek the scent of  a
rose in full bloom. I remember you

leaning over the steel hospital bed to
tell me you could not see the bright 

flower I brought to you each Saturday
night. And how sad it was that you could

no longer taste food or drink. Kevin,
I think of you each time I sit down to

Saturday supper alone. And wish you were
still here, to taste the warm goodness.

And see and smell the bright red rose in all its
glory on a splendid Saturday night.

I will never forget.

Poetry © 2016 by Dylan Mitchell