A little girl finds love and
plays with it, for but a while.
Then when she gets bored and
throws in the corner, that doll.

Perhaps our chance meeting was
only a thought up, woman's ploy.
Joy for an evening, studied and
discarded; lasts year's boy toy.

But the memory forever exists
in me, like a cherished rose.
For the simple reason, I can't
believe, that it was me you chose.

Maybe some day, you'll want
to take another quick look.
But please, don't put me with
the others, in your press book.

Put me in the dried earth, on a
corner table in one of your rooms.
Maybe one day, it will spark your
attention, add a little water...

To see what will bloom.