Pretty Little

For Nonno, 2018

There is a flower that I know, 

And every day it grows and grows. 

It’s only native by the bay, 

Where the waters of age seem to play. 


The growth at first was slow, 

As the ground wasn’t ready and sowed. 

The topsoil was rich with wisdom and memories, 

Making the perfect spot to plant itself cleverly. 


Day by day it began to sprout, 

Showing more of its green stem out. 

Cloudy days filled the air, 

As the waters of age rained everywhere. 


The people of the nearby town, 

Looked upon the flower with a frown. 

No petals or leaves to prove it’s worth, 

So the people tried to up root the dirt. 


The apothecaries brought medicine, 

Trying to erode the exoskeleton. 

The flower stood tall and strong, 

Growing and growing all day long. 


The people realized one day, 

To leave the flower at bay. 

For over time they had come to know, 

The flower’s prettiest blue petals had grown. 


At first the people were mad, 

How could this happen and not be bad? 

But upon further observation,

The flower added some beautifications.

Upon that hill by the seas of age, 

Where the town people still play, 

The memories of the people are held close in thought, 

Because of a little old forget me not.