Flowers at my Door by Nancy Winslow

The door ajar, I peak around.
Yet still there are no flowers found
 
Did he forget, should I ask why?
Well, maybe not, I said goodbye,
 
My man and I we are no more,
Since he met his French paramour,
 
My heart he broke, my love is gone.
I feel so dead, yet still I long.
 
I said goodbye. I walked away.
Yet still I hope he’d change his ways,
 
And recognize my love is true,
And want to make our love anew.
 
But he cannot make me the one,
For it’s his heart that’s on the run.
 
He pines, he hopes, he prays each day
That his first love comes back one day.
 
He lost his love, he walked away.
So many years have gone astray.
 
But till that day, with patience wait,
He flirts with love and fears his fate.
 
It’s he who lives with love that’s lost,
And, all this waiting, what’s the cost?
 
He roams the earth without a heart.
It seems so real; it’s just a part.
 
Without the love he feels is true,
No one else will ever do
 
So, till the day she comes back home,
His love, his heart will always roam.

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One thought on “Flowers at my Door by Nancy Winslow

  1. Pingback: The Greenwich Village Literary Review, Spring 2014 Vol. I, No. 1 | The Greenwich Village Literary Review

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