You were seven.
Your long brown curls 
Swinging at your waist 
As we trailed along 
Through the woodline
Past the ol’ farm dumping grounds 
Beyond the crooked creek 
And just near the clearing of daffodils 
“There!” “And here, momma!” You shouted. 
Your little voice rang out with joyous abundance.
I turned to find you
With your shirt bundled like an apron basket 
Full up with your “biggest find ever!”
A treasure trove of tastey morels 
The excitement that lit up your eyes
Your cheesy, snaggle-tooth grin
Those rain boots with the polka dots and bows
We brought home your haul 
In your little red wagon
Buckets full–
“Kentucky Dryland Fish”
A springtime treat!