That summer day, I caught the bouquet,
White roses, blue ribbons, given to me,
Unseen hands lofting the flowers caught so easily,
As if meant for me, a gift to Myself.
Artificial flowers, captured in a glass vase,
Sit on my bedside table, by a photo of a man from OZ,
Distance keeps our love on a shelf, and I wonder
Why can't he be honest with himself?
Too many irons in the fire, allowed to quench his desire,
Time zones away, my heart aches, life again,
Slams on the brakes, reality slaps him in the face,
His commitments keep me in my place.
Artificial flowers, lasting beauty,
Real love sacrificed to duty,
This conundrum of the heart,
With no choice, keeps us apart.
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