Poetic wannabe (incomplete)

Plastic Flower

Stems of wealthy roots
A flower, you gave once at youth.

I start to look for that favorite tree of mine.
A landmark of green bygone in time.
Little nosegays, I took care back in age
Full of memories, back in my days.

So I leaned in, my window thuds.
Binoculars, I look over 'the place' of muds.
Hoping they grew after leaps of time
I'm old now and there's no flower in line.

So I walked usually to the place
as old hinder legs pick up pace
Where I saw the flowers all same
a clone- exactly, of what you gave

Drenched in tears
I wanted to be sure,
so I touched the flower
the petals didn't sear.

I could be happy if they grew to many
But I've been more than happy to see that it's the same flower my wife holds under her tomb.