What The Thunder Said, Vol 4 | Page 17

A Spinster's Fantasy

By Sydney Harrison

He's not late;

He's just stuck in the traffic of the clogged New York streets,

Listening to songs that I love,

Watching the twinkling raindrops chase each other down the windshield,

And thinking of me.

He's not late;

He just stopped to buy me flowers

At the little shop in Midtown.

He knows exactly what to get me:

Dancing daisies with knobbly, green stems.

Someday soon,

He'll ring the bell,

(I'll know it's him)

And he'll ask to come away into the night,

To which I'll reply,

"What took you so long?"

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