I never quite knew why my father took me hiking,
Unlike other dads who simply took a belt to their rebellious son.
My punishment to toil in the soil,
Get dirty, and climb literal mountains
That began as a tiny chip on boyhood's shoulder.

Therefore, it was a shock to come upon the proverbial field of flowers
Growing in such unexpected places
So like a sunny pasture instead at dusk usually perceived by young life.
Someone whom always saw things of beauty
Contained in a bottle to wither and die prematurely.

Rather odd that the older man would practically skip
And then drop right there amidst
All those pinks, lavenders, a splash of yellow,
Perhaps finally find some good in suffering
He would share with me as a means to escape the darkness.