Yesterday's Flowers.

Tell me a story of yesterday's flowers.

And I will tell you a story of my first love
For a beautiful brown-eyed girl.
And of her affection for yellow petaled roses.
I will tell you how she danced in fields of goldenrod.
Care free of the late spring rain
and the chill that lingered in the air.

Tell me a story of yesterday's desires.

And I will tell you a story of the youthful adventure in our hearts.
How we climbed the arches of the railroad bridge.
To sit high above the waters
Of a river I was afraid of falling into and drowning.
Just like I did into her eyes.
A years worth of sunsets and sunrises we watched from the bridge.
Drawing close at dusk and dawn.
Descending through the firmament to safer ground below.
Making love, taboo at so tender an age.
On the banks of the river. Beneath the bridge.
Beside the water.

Tell me a story of yesterday's sorrows.

And I will tell you of the ending of yesterday.
Of growing up and reluctantly embracing the world.
Of drifting apart and journeying on alone.
Of what was once a future not yet passed.
Thereafter becoming but a fond memory.
Not often recalled but always cherished