With big blue eyes and rosebud lips
  my Heather spoke to me.
  And in her heart of innocence
  she loved me pure and free.

  She said: "you are a flower, mommy. . .
  the red and pretty kind!"
  Her humbling words brought forth a tear.
  Her eyes of love are blind!

  She touched me with her fingertips
  so sweet and lily white,
  and hugged me hard around my hips
  with all her little might.

  Would that I was the blossom, red
  that Heather thinks I am.
  The truth be known,  I am instead
  just flesh and blood. . . woman.

Anne Bryant-Hamon
(c) 1997