A gloomy day, rain tapped our windows

I filled the roses in their pot

I watered the tulips, like i do a lot

I filled the white daisies, the flower of lows.

I waited at the counter, a small grin on my face

Watching the old man walk in, seemingly in the wrong place?

He seems distraught, yet that’s probably why

he’s in a black suit and tie.

He paid in cash, a small tear hit his coin

I avoided eye contact, for I know his tear would mean.

“See you in awhile.” He said to me

I hope when he returns, he’ll value these white daisies leaves like me.

I forgot the old man as time came and went

I never expected him to come again

yet when i saw the rain pellet on the window

the old man eased him, his face mellow.

He slowly slid toward the bright white daises

he grabbed one by its stem, and slid his thumb over the leaves

he loves them like me

He paid in cash

his small smile a mask

i know he hurts within

hopefully he finds him a new friend

year two strolled in

like the old man and his empty hand

as normal, the rain rolled down the window again

he smiled at me his mask up, never to end

This year, unlike previous

his clothes casual, jeans and jacket

his smile more genuine, im curious

he pays cash, he’s hurried, he’s in and out like magic.

His change in demeanor is new

i wonder if he moved on in time

yet i feel like he’s trying to do what he needs too

instead of healing his mind

year 3, me and this man

the rain on the window

and the white daisies in their pot and can.

I glance down, and see my black suit, my confusion is— Oh.

I glance back up to the man, and my eyes slide to the side

I see where he ends

on the left of the mirror, I sigh.

My feet have been stuck in the same spot, since i walked in.

my heart drops, I reach my hand into the pot

I think about everything that was, and now is not.

I wonder if i’ll make it to year 3

like my mind showed me.

I wander to the counter slowly

I set my daisies down and a smile to the mirror shows me

That my wrinkles are far worse

and maybe i’ll be next in a hearse.

the cashier hands me my change, and I leave the florist shop in a rage.

I wish my wife would’ve told me she wouldn’t make it or stay

I would’ve asked her for her favorite flowers before she passed away.