Years ago all had them on their shelf's,
These dried pale flowers,
Telling stories about the sun,
That shined on the meadows green.
We were buying dried leaves,
To be put into vases,
Filling our rooms with no fragrance,
Then we bought aroma candles.
The winter was packed with essence,
Oil and aroma bags send artificial greeting,
From what was a merry time,
Were the soils were soft and sprouts green.
I am missing the female touch,
There are no dried flowers on my shelf's,
And my fantasy is limited to plastic flowers,
They can be washed and cleaned.
I can even buy lavender fragrance,
To spray on the formed leaves,
Sending my nostrils on a sentimental journey,
But this is leaving my brain at home.
I have to buy some real flowers,
To feel the freshness from their leaves,
To smell the real fragrance,
To fill my lungs once more with summers breeze.
I am hopeless romantic today,
Like I am missing something 24 seven,
But your bed is still empty,
Your are not here with me tonight.
