The Scent of Flowers in my Hair

I want to come home smelling like flowers.

When I walk through the door,

you’ll know how I’ve spent my hours.

Elbow deep in the dirt with thorns poking my skin,

Cut stems at a slant to push the water within.

Surrounded by art, breathing in the fresh air,

The enveloping scent of blooms in my hair.

Deeply threaded in the follicles of my skin.

The greenery and its poetry, like spirits akin.

My hands may be tired or cracked to the bone,

Arrangements opening with every note grown.

My eyes might be strained and impossibly tired.

My hands may be cut from rogue chicken wire.

But for every drop shed, one hundred more,

Creation and magic are held in that store.

My hopes and my dreams, all finally realized,

Hard work, dedication, in time recognized.

My best self I’ll be, my passion laid bare,

When I finally come home,

the scent of flowers in my hair.