Our love was like a tablecloth.
White, pleated, and stuffed away for special occasions.
You wouldn't let me take it out, half the time.
I'm clumsy, and you didn't want me to paint it red.
Just let it's gleaming brightness adorn our table.
But keep it hidden.
As for special occasions, I can name three:

One-- The day I met you, while the flowers bloomed outside.

Two-- When we walked beneath the city lights, all in the dark of night.

Three-- The day you left, disappeared from my sight.

So today I'll bring it out...
That white pleated tablecloth,
You're not here, I'll paint it red.