The Flower

I know sometimes he thinks of me

While walking in the rain

His black jacket wrapped tightly around him.

Holding the collar

Because he doesn’t want his favorite tee shirt wet.

When he hears a woman talk

With an American accent

And he turns around quickly

To see there is no way

It is me.

When he changes his clothes

He remembers

How terribly I say trousers.

When he picks a beautiful flower

Stands there holding it

Wishing he could give it to me.



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