The white-haired old lady
Cradled the lilacs
In her arms and wept.
For some reason
She thought I had
Brought them to her
From the old farm
Where she grew up.
“Thank you so much,
Young man,” she sobbed,
“You have no idea
what these mean to me.”
She squeezed my hand.
And there, in her eye,
Something magical!
I had really picked
The lilacs right outside
The building, but she
Touched my soul,
So I chose the lesser sin,
And quietly left.
michaeljordahl 