HE sent her twelve Jacqueminot roses, All fragrant and blooming and fair, That nestled so sweetly and shyly 'Neath smilax and maidenhair. She sent him a letter to thank him, On paper just tinted with blue -- "The flowers are still very fresh, John, When I see them I think of you." She posted her letter that morning, He got it that evening at ten. She can't understand what has changed him, For he called on her never again. |