FOR MAMA
The wild azaleas
were bright
against the green forest.
Their limbs
snapped easily
and lay like pearls
in her small hands.
Wild Azaleas
She hurried home.
Her mama wrapped them
quickly
with a fruit jar,
half-filled with water
from the well,
then turned to her daughter
who smiled
brighter than
all the azaleas
left in the forest.
© Freeda Baker Nichols
Freeda Baker Nichols 
you can sure paint pictures with your words!
LikeLike
Lovely, Freeda!
LikeLike
Thanks.
LikeLike
Sweet memory, Freeda. Those bouquets presented by little hands were precious gifts. Still are for those fortunate to have little ones nearby.
LikeLike
Yes, and the lovely springtime brings back memories of those days.
LikeLike
I remember picking wildflowers and bringing them to mom. I always felt sad because they never lasted very long. I expect mom appreciated them but I remember feeling I should have left them in the woods where they might have survived longer. Your poem is uplifting – I didn’t expect my thoughts to go in this direction.,
LikeLike
How interesting that you noticed the flowers didn’t last long and how sensitive that you cared about that. Thank you for your comment. Come back to visit my blog, again. And maybe you’ll want to follow. I welcome you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have been following you. Your posts have been showing up in my Reader when I am looking at blogs I follow. But when I just now went to my list of blogs that I follow I accidentally “unchecked” your blog and it disappeared from my list. So now I am following you again. Sometimes I have absolutely no tech savvy!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I seem to remember you now.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Perhaps i need to be more memorable…I’ll have to think about that.
LikeLike
lol I’ve sort of taken a “rest” from my blog and have been into photography, posting the pictures in the “Arkansas Pictures” group. I received several new followers after taking the Blogging 101 and Photography 101 courses.
LikeLiked by 1 person