You Used to Bring Me Flowers

You Used to Bring Me Flowers
By Quizmo LaGrande

You used to bring me flowers;
Every evening fresh roses at my bedside.

Then you paused.

The last ones have long wasted and died;
The vase remains empty.

What season might disrupt its plethora?

Dare I borrow a daisy or mum,
A reckoning of what was
But not as sweet?

To interrupt the fragrance of love
And the beauty of a special flower
Chosen just for me,
From you,

Has left me withered.