Today on my daily long walk of hours,
I encountered a yard covered with flowers,
The flowers looked familiar of days past,
Of memories that in my mind will always last,
It was the Portulaca, my father used to grow,
On our front yard so many years ago,
Every spring he would plant a new bunch,
No scent but carrying a colorful punch,
You could see the beautiful colors from afar,
Even from up the street driving your car,
It is the little things – that we remember,
The little things that make a heart tender,

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