Queen Anne's Lace

I spent my childhood summers
In a rural mountain place,
And dotted through the meadows
Was a slew of Queen Anne’s lace.

They told me that it was a weed.
Its smell did not attract;
But bees would buzz around, so they had
Something that I lacked.

The name of Queen Anne’s lace rang true.
Its flowers’ lacy look
Resembled lots of lace you’d see
If you checked in a book.

I had no strong affection
For these countless swaying stems.
Of all the flowers in my youth,
These wouldn’t rank as gems.

Yet when I saw some recently,
One glance was all it took;
My pigtailed summers loomed
Like they were reeled in on a hook.

I don’t know much about Queen Anne,
Can’t conjure up her face;
But I’m transported when I see
A touch of Queen Anne’s lace.