
Flowers collected in my childhood at my family home stored
in one of my father’s college textbooks
Tomorrow, when tomorrow arrives,
I will go out and pick flowers.
I will place them carefully,
oh so carefully,
between the pages of an old book.
In that way years from now,
On some nice future day,
when grandchildren or great-grandchildren,
ask, as they inevitably will,
Ask about lives lost and changes,
and about all the whys and wherefores,
I will have them open the book,
probably a book of poetry,
those thick long words can dry anything quickly,
and turn the leaves and say,
Yes, but even among the graves, there was always beauty.
© words and picture by Daniel DeMarle 4/20/2020 written during the COVID-19 Pandemic