Friday, June 30, 2006

The Gift

She stood there not long ago
With a rose petal in her hand
And she smiled, said she'd go
Then asked me to understand.

I asked where, my voice a thing
I didn't know was mine: machinery
Asked if she needed anything
And was kind and never mean.

She left the petal and she walked away
And went out into the night air
And I never asked if she would stay
Just smiled in my despair.

And now I walk around and pretend
Nothing's wrong and I'm all fine
But there's a rose I have to tend
And the girl I wished was mine.

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