Carnation perfume now floats in the air
Surrounded by beauty, I sit and stare
The wrought iron bench that's holding my tush
is next to red leaves that color a bush
White flowers protrude from beds in the grass
so pretty, they're picked and sniffed by a lass
Her basket is filled with yellow and pink;
The vase will be filled and put by the sink

I watch while she hums a beautiful tune
it's not long before she's started to croon
She's coming this way; I'm hidden from view
She's picked some carnations; only a few
Some white calla lilies must be nearby
They rest in her basket; warmed by the sky
She walks down the path and then we both meet
We nod with our heads, and shuffle our feet

I ask her to sit and talk for awhile
we have a nice talk, but, still I can't smile
This lovely young lady's free as the breeze
and, soon she is gone through mist in the trees
I see that her basket is still on the ground
I wonder if she was ever around
Did I pick the flowers; put them inside?
Was she just a ghost, or maybe my guide?

I must have imagined she was just here
No matter, she's brought me lots of good cheer
I look in the forest, catching a glance
of someone or something starting to dance
The lass from the bench sure knows how to twirl
She dances alone and starts to unfurl
She's ghostly and wan but dances with style
As she disappears, I put on my smile