She tells me when she’s older
She wants to be poor
Money is paper and metal
No more

So i look into her eyes
And tell her to stick with me
For if i’ll have one thing
It won’t be money

We can live on cigarettes
And chocolate
And ignore the hole
In our mutual pocket

I will be poor
This is surely true
But with her in my heart
I’ll be richer than you

And she smiles one of her smiles
That makes the flowers bloom
The flowers of cloth
That hang in my room

And she says she wants me inside her
And i tell her that i am
Underneath her skin
I’ll stay as long as i can

And then she says she’s serious
I tell her that I know
Because by now her southern heart
Has melted my snow


And with this spring
Grow the cloth flowers
Decorating her garden
And giving purpose to my hours.