They were simple daisies, <br />picked in the Park at Dawn. <br />Not up to standard, though, <br />traditionally, the expectation <br />had always been to shop <br />for more appropriate ones, <br />at the local family florist, <br />the trademark being cost, <br />and plastic, as if thinly veiled. <br /> <br />But she was poor beyond belief. <br />the town had given her the coffin, <br />the preacher had supplied <br />a long-retired gown, all black. <br /> <br />Her only son had cabled from America, <br />that he was indisposed for this occasion, <br />that time, without a doubt, was money <br />and that the world would still keep turning. <br /> <br />She stayed a while after the service <br />was over and the crowd of two had left. <br />And, when she was alone with him <br />she placed, among the happy daisies, <br /> <br />a single flower of a brilliant blue, <br />which he had grown and nurtured <br />in their small garden, near the rhubarb. <br />It was a flower, simply called Forget-Me-Not.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/forget-me-not-4/
