That rose perfume inclines a love divine which flies in natural drifting with the birds who perch themselves alight with silver chimes unspoken, ringing silence though no words –
pop! The question he meant to always ask was if she liked, him liked him. Like a rose he picked – so precious but it couldn't last – his fleeting presence shipped away in rows unbeautifully unpacked until it passed.
They'll gather all life's mysteries – her eyes – and still in love confound him after all and sitting on a park bench you'll recall:
the hands on sailing ships all wave goodbye the fireworks are bursting in the sky.