Queen Anne's Lace

I spent my childhood summers In a rural mountain place, And dotted through the meadows Was a slew of Queen Anne’s lace. They told me that it was a weed. Its smell did not attract; But bees would buzz around, so they had Something that I lacked. The name of Queen Anne’s lace rang true. Its flowers’ lacy look Resembled lots of lace you’d see If you checked in a book. I had no strong affection For these countless swaying stems. Of all the flowers in my youth, These wouldn’t rank as gems. Yet when I saw some recently, One glance was all it took; My pigtailed summers loomed Like they were reeled in on a hook. I don’t know much about Queen Anne, Can’t conjure up her face; But I’m transported when I see A touch of Queen Anne’s lace.