I tide myself over
Writing poetry with rhymes
And letting the tea boil down to nothing
How to face the grim reality
That you have never been happier
And never more melancholy
The sun sparkles on the gerber daisy garden
Orange, pink, yellow, red
The butterflies drink their fill on nectar
While I stare out the picture window
Thumbing through book pages
And waiting for you
To thrill me.
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