Millie by Aliice Black
The flowers in the courtyard
Half withered, half new.
Handfuls of them I want to grip
their stems and take the prettiest ones
home to you.
My aunt knows the names of every flower.
She can tell you of Magnolias,
She paints them onto dishes,
stuffed into baskets on the front of bicycles.
The wheels always a bit uneven
But they’re perfect to me.