Spring Memory.

Play of sunlight across a tile floor,
scent of drying grass and nectar barely tangible in the morning breeze.

You with your sundress,
flowing, gossamer, caressed by the breeze,
delicately plastered across arms and legs and breasts and back as you spun and danced and laughed and sang.

Me, dowdy and brooding as always,
clutching crippling crutch and trying to appear stoic and manly,
yet finally coaxed to laughter by the scene.

All pretense overpowered by the dance, the jovial company, a compassionate companion and the beauty of the day.