The aging blind man at the florist's
Recalls his vision,
The statue of his former youth.

Alas when sight was fragrant.

Here, the sensation of scent
Is a meadow of heartache
When days were alive as fresh bouquets,
Nostalgic perfumes upon her grave.

Alas when love was fragrant...

He carries her lilies out the door,
Old and blind,
A man holding on to all memories
Of bright before’s.

Alas when life was fragrant…