In the winter months you
are expensive for when
we fight and you won't talk
to me, I can't pick you
flowers from the wild, I
must purchase them from the
grocery. These means, which
may seem a bit like a
ploy, will soon make a well-
deserved grin take hold, but
I wonder if these means
will get stale, or if I
can keep this up when we're
old. So why is it that
when summer comes each year
you tell me that you want
some time alone? Every
year I can't have both cash
and love--you're out of sync
with the flowers I've grown.