Poetry

may wasn't officially here until they were
their fragrance carried on the ever present breeze
campus seemed to burst with their sweet scent
carrying me home, to my childhood the swing set in the backyard
wearing the little purple flowers in our hair
and stealing away sprigs in our futile attempts to bring the outdoors in
sprays and songs and candles failed to capture their essence
nothing can substitute for the hand-picked bouquet of grandma's lilacs
on the table to usher in the summer season