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Late Summer Bouquet
by Michael Escoubas
With excited hands my grandsons
work the ground, repurposing
what is left of the garden.
They find Black-eyed Susans
(bumblebees on sticks),
purple Coneflowers, their colors
faded now from so much summer sun.
Pink Tea Roses, still stunning, make the cut.
The boys take all of these, crowd them
in a green glass Mason jar
hastily grabbed from a basement
pantry shelf. Some flowers droop
a little, some stems are bent, the whole
thing bears well-meaning fingerprints.
There is something about
the imperfect things that children do—
Come Grandpa, come see what we have done,
Come see what we have made, just for you.