Don’t come too close, you’ll be standing in his spot
You’ll trample the roses and marigolds I’ve planted with careful thought
Watered with tears of conviction and unyielding self-control
They stand a little taller with each passing hour
By the time he arrives, this garden I’ve contrived will be too husky to see through
And when that happens, I’ll carve it into a bouquet, presenting it to him on my final day
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