He carried flowers to be delivered

Flowers worth his weekly wage

Delivering someone’s money of love

When his own lay dying at home

They said love was for the rich

Only if his young heart had listened

Then probably his love wouldn’t

Be dying or so he thought

All she thought of was

Of his coming back home

So that once again she could see

See his love shining still young in his eyes

So what if a few crow feet danced along the lines…