Rain soaked fingers scramble for the key,
Trembling with cold, fingers numb and blue.
Come on, one two three-
Finally the door swings, we’re through!
But as I step inside my feet collide
With an object on the floor;
And thanks to that single stride,
I, too, am on the floor.
Pulling it from beneath my leg,
I see the roses I squashed quite well.
This is not some cruel joke, I beg-
I’ve already had a day of Hell.
With all remaining energy I stand,
And find the aggrieved bouquet a home;
Wondering who is the admirer at hand.
And through my memory I comb…
This matter delicate as the petals,
Is a war between delight and distress,
With only one way for it to be settled-
For the admirer to confess.
Back at the door where it began,
I stare out at the busy street
And there’s the man,
Amidst the rush of the city our eyes meet:
Then I am outside, the rain hits me.
But I don’t mind because he’s there,
The guy who always serves me coffee-
Why was I never aware?