Wildflowers Poem by Albert Ahearn

The fragrances of wildflowers
are now a pleasant memory.
I close my eyes and picture them
still swaying in a gentle breeze;
but when I open them they’re gone
and where they once had smiled at me
there’s barely evidence to see
their beauty once had flourished there
in kaleidoscopic colors.
Their absence only bears to mind
that beauty last the briefest time
and one day when they reappear
my aging self will not be there
to sniff their bouquets from the air.