How did he ever find
violets under a hedgerow
to give to my mother
on Christmas Day in Wales?
And twenty years later,
cherishing her care of home,
what was he doing placing between
the toast and cereal
his Christmas gift to her:
one metal shoe-scraper without tag or wrapping?
The giving of my father
honored a woman's love
for both the useful and the beautiful.
But there must be no pretension.
My mother smiled for violets
and for the shining shoe-scraper.
She smiled for all his simple
offerings down the years.
So now I bravely search the city stores
to find simplicity for Rosalind....
I really think my dad would understand.
After all, out here
in winter we wear overshoes,
and violets don't grow under hedgerows in December!