She lays flowers by a green painted fence.
Others lay them too, but not so often now.
They tell her, stop, but she knows he can sense
she lays flowers.
Today she leaves tulips and a quiet vow;
he will be close. A meagre recompense –
to please, appease the nodding heads that bow.
Done deeds stay spent; erased in lost laments.
No second chance; no turnabout allowed.
The green stays green. The fence remains a fence.
She lays flowers.