In Praise of You

You like lilies that smell, but not daisies. You love little children, but well behaved.

You'll get a cup of water for the lady in the wheelchair.

You love snow, but not after March. You're afraid of slipping, so you wear spikes and go out anyway.

You like the mountains. And you like the seaside. Just like me.

You stay awake, worrying about your daughter. She's 28 and in Dallas. And you'd do anything for her still.

You spit out the skins of apples as you eat them. But you eat two of them with cinnamon every night.

You sing like a child to any tune you hear, mangling it with made-up words that make us laugh.

Your posture is upright and perfect. Except when you've been fasting all day because your stomach can't take the pain of eating. Then I need to help you down the street as you get weak. You quietly endure without complaint.

You'll dance at a wedding, and cry at a funeral.

Every day, your friends celebrate you as you post beauty on Facebook.

Because those flowers are a perfect reflection of you. Simple. Pure. Beautiful.