Running to the flowerbeds,
Large scissors in my small hands,
With the precision of an eight year old I cut the stem,
The flowers bright as the sun,
Their petals turned up like they’re hands trying to catch the light,
I gathered them up,
Took them inside,
We had to be quiet before she arised,
The minute she woke, the sun would poke
Through the clouds,
I placed them in a vase,
Like a light bulb that has just been turned on,
They make the room glow,
We lay breakfast out,

Here she comes!
Sleepily she rubs her eyes,

“Happy Mother’s Day!”
At least she acts surprised.