Flowers

I wrote this many months ago while attending a joyful tea and book reading.  I never published it because the name does not suit the content.  But after so many months of trying to marry the two, I thought that by publishing, one of you readers would be able to find a more appropriate name.


In the cool afternoon they gather
Old girls now
Wrinkles on their brows.
Hugs and kisses pass
and they ask "how"?
Reds and purples, white and brown,
Yellow shifts, green pants, also long white gowns.
They tell tales of lives that have gone farther into their souls than
they could have ever imagined as girls.
Stories of babies and loss, triumphs and travel.
Smiles grow broad as tongues ford the years that separated.
Weaving back broken threads of friendship and love
A tapestry of flowers they mingle
women with grands, sore knees and thickened waists who still
say "yes, please" in voices that tinkle.
Wrinkles nor folds do I see as we meet
skin like soft suede or peau de soie I may greet.
But all my mind sees are 
Pigtails with bows
Fallen socks snuggling the ankles.