Bouquets, Grains of Wheat, and Other Love

Bouquets, Grains of Wheat, and Other Love For two years there was one little boy, And though without a brother he "explored," Then in the spring in his grubby little hands, He would appear with a bouquet at the back door. Wild daisies or dandelions or a buttercup, His grubby little face with a smile looked up. Mudder, I brought you a nice bouquet, And that's what he did that day to play. Another little boy described much the same, Picked different plants that pleased him, Then there were two pretty back door bouquets, Maybe an iris of my own was among them. And the long awaited little girl, Attracted by wild grass that blew, She gathered up her "grains of wheat," She thought Chicken Little to be true. Each child thought he was the original one, And I never would blow a cover, Iris, roses, buttercups in the dew, Even sticker-filled little yellow clover