Her diary was in the dresser drawer,
hidden beneath the folded things.
It opened where a pressed wildflower lay,
and on that page the words, "He loves me."

I remembered how we had walked from school,
laughed and shared a cupcake from her lunch box.
Impulsively, I had reached to pluck that flower,
and bashfully presented it to her.

Our eyes had met and what I saw was more love.
I wondered if she saw the same in mine.
We walked on in silence, lest a word
dispel the moment's mystic magic.

Now seven decades have gone by,
and her diary still within the drawer,
hidden beneath the folded things.
And in it a pressed wildflower lay,
With the words, "He loves me."

I look at her, and it's still love I see.
And when I look at the flattened flower in cellophane
I can see her laugh, and the way she looked at me
when I handed her that flower.

Looking at the flattened flower in cellophane
It comes alive, like on that day I picked it for her.