There were fresh violets blooming all along the trail in the woods in the rain. I walked early, not minding getting wet. Not minding anything. Because this day my husband will be home. And now, at the end of this rainy May day, he is sleeping beside me.

A Dandelion for My Mother

BY JEAN NORDHAUS

How I loved those spiky suns, 

rooted stubborn as childhood 

in the grass, tough as the farmer’s 

big-headed children—the mats 

of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe. 

How sturdy they were and how 

slowly they turned themselves 

into galaxies, domes of ghost stars 

barely visible by day, pale 

cerebrums clinging to life . . .

[read the rest here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49847/a-dandelion-for-my-mother]