After all these years,
I still gasp
when I hear him
pull up and park.
I gaze through the glass,
see him sitting
for a second
in the truck,
tense and tired,
squeezing fingers
over his forehead.
He slowly slides out,
reaching a strong arm
across the seat.
Sweat soaked shirt
clings to his chest,
greasy, grimy jeans,
marred and marked
from the long day.
Dust covered boots
hit the driveway
with determination.
I watch him walk to me,
worn out, weary from work
...with wildflowers...
held in his hands,
rough and rugged
hard-working hands.
The door opens
and the only thing I see
is the soft side
of this sweet man’s soul.
He leans to me and says,
“These buttercups
were breathless
to see your beauty
and the daisies
were dancing lonely,
longing to be
hugged by
a lovely lady.”
Tears spilled
through smiles
of sincerity and security.
Love and romance
isn’t all wine and roses.
It’s wildflower whispers,
hand-picked,
from fields of forever.
Bronze trophy winner
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
Awww, how sweet...how utterly adorable...
Heyyy...does he happen to have an older brother??? 
