The kindly, sensible, well-
Intending man she was seeing
Had presented her apropos
Of nothing with a dozen long-
Stemmed red roses so perfectly
Realized in every detail
No one would be able to
Tell from a distance, other
Of course than the bees, along
With she herself and maybe
The silken roses themselves
For which she felt such sudden
Sad sympathy and thought
Again of that summer
Afternoon the love of her life,
The father of her children,
Had come up from the field,
Grinning, clutching a bouquet
Of Blue Chicory, Black-Eyed
Susans, and Queen Anne’s lace.
She thanked the kindly, sensible,
Well-intending man, weighing
In her heart which form of loneliness
Was to be preferred.
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