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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