The Language of Flowers

You always wrote in roses

Cast them in ice and in my cheeks

That’s how you thought love must be

Old clichés and chivalry

If you couldn’t have him

Then perhaps you’d take me

You knew how to fall in love

Spattered the pages with words

And your theatricality

Too shy for true advances

The air grew crowded

With the glances you cast

But you were never quite a rose

Not so hard-stemmed

Sharp-thorned, shapely-formed

You were sadly condemned

To the real world

Where you’d always be

Not quite the woman people dream of