The Gift - Poem by David McLansky
I gave to her a marigold
Plucked from the sea cliff bank;
Her eyes grew wild and chilly cold
At I so bold and frank;
She put the flower in her book
And handed it to me;
Then strode she off, the grass it shook
As she marched along the sea;
The golden flower that I had killed
In my sudden lover's rush,
Lies withered on the grassy hill
‘Mid the nettles in the brush.
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