From my study window I see
my neighbor,
a gentle man with white hair,
a bit stooped, and his
eyes squint.
He is picking up the fallen
magnolias.
His arms full of the wilted
flowers, he looks around
for the leaf basket and,
not seeing it, takes the
blossoms to the garbage can
(which happens to be full).
He throws the now-brownish
flowers along side the curb,
but picks them up again,
so as not to litter.
He throws them behind a shrub,
only to retrieve them.
His aged, yet still beautiful,
wife walks onto the patio...
He brings the white blossoms
and places them in her arms.
"For you, My Darling."
She smiles.
It's the thought that counts.

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