He longed to visit,
to stay, to share,
But it couldn’t happen,
he gave flowers instead.

Not a substitute, not nearly,
but at least something of him,
Leaving the house he knew they were there,
Reminding her that he really cared.

But in the dark,
sleeping alone,
He though of those flowers,
they just weren’t enough.

A hundred gifts straight from the heart,
Couldn’t fill the void in his arms,
The scent of her skin, the warmth of her breath,
Her arms holding him tight, her voice, her kiss,
All held in his mind, as he drifted to sleep,
He dreamt of a time when she might be with him,
A walk, a visit, somewhere quiet and warm,
A cuddle, with thoughts shared,
No words, none were needed,
Hands held was enough.

As he woke, no companion by his side,
He though of those flowers, his proxy,
I may not be with her, she may wake alone,
But they will be there to witness and remind.