Is it enough to raise a boy
who stops to smell every flower in his path,
who caresses the petals oh-so-gently,
marveling at their softness on his skin?
Is it enough that he notices
that some tulips are delicately feathered,
others simple, bold, and bright,
still others unfurling layer upon layer of petals,
slightly shimmering in the sunlight?
Is it enough that he knows
the bluebell from the grape hyacinth,
the narcissus from the zinnia,
the peony from the rose?
The anthers paint his nose a telltale yellow
as he searches for scent deep in the petals.
It may not be enough,
but it’s a start.
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