The carnation came from me then –
the year we both turned seventeen.
Had you not seen flower of love in me?

I had not words to tell you then
what’s plain to see in fields of green
that lie between what was and what will be.

Love’s first flower withered fast, died
before it found our hearts. Now I
walk on in search of promised Valentines.

In finding none, I pluck a pink
carnation from the floral aisle
at Kroger this Friday night, cry, then smile

Remembering secrets never
shared and sweet, scared look of surprise
day you reached for love’s first flower of pink.