He's almost 7, and he still brings me flowers.
Every time he sees some that can be picked,
he thinks of his mama.
He loves when I put them in my ponytail, or behind my ear.
I love it too; his love for me on display.
There will come a day when flowers will make him think of another girl;
I pray for her often.
But, for now, he thinks of me,
and each blossom is a treasure.