Ask a Florist
about true love
All the red roses returned
every Valentine's
All the Aislings
uncollected
All the posies binned
or the single stems pinned
On lapels
'til they wither
Ask a florist
about the unsteadiness of the human heart
Its blossom as fickle
as a freshly cut bouquet
How ardour
gift wrapped
So quickly becomes
an order cancelled
Ask a florist
about true love
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