If I could pick for you a bouquet
from the windswept hills of spring,
from under budding oak groves,
and along the babbling creek…
and sweet peas for your mom,
the mist from early mornings,
a meadowlark’s sweet song.
I’d throw in green, green grasses
and the chokecherry’s in bloom
to set upon your nightstand
and bring some springtime to your room.
And to that I’d add some sweet smells
and a horse’s tangled mane,
Like the sound of insects buzzing
and dandelion fluff.
Then I’d find you ladyslippers,
a yellow violet hiding out,
But I won’t forget the rainstorms
or the rocks that dot the fields,
Because if I could pick the prairie,
put this earth into a vase