MAY DAY

When I was a child, the first day of May,
I'd pick wildflowers 'n make a bouquet.

Then across the street, I'd steal away,
'N give Aunt Belle a bunch to display.

Such a pretty lady, with blue hair of gray,
Her smile would brighten the cloudiest day.

Funny the things, remembered from yesterday,
Laughter, gestures and stuff people say.