Rose

It's not that I missed her, let's make that clear.

I don't much care if she's gone, or she's here.

But the flowers were dying, wilting most foul,

And with my own efforts, I'd thrown in the towel.

So I found her number, despite her objections,

And I explained the flowers, and their gloomy projections.

She agreed to come back, for some brief care,

On the proviso that I wasn't there.

So later that week, she came to my place,

And the first thing she saw was my face.

And the garden, full of beautiful, healthy flowers, spelling her name...