I Saw a Man Gathering a Few Flowers

I saw a man gathering a few flowers And wondered if they could be for me. He tied them together with a lilac bow, Vanishing between the city’s towers. I didn’t open my window or I did close, Just in case he would come again. I want to hear his humming then say: “Daises are fine, I will not demand a rose.” So rare this sight is – not the man but the bower Where the small flowers insist to grow. I only knew about them once before when my mother told me a tale from a tv’s show. She is now silent and motionless in a tomb, This time I cannot ask for her advice, If the man climbs up the staircase:’ Should I keep singing while my hair I comb?