Pursuit

Lanky, long, angular, lean face neither kind nor mean Breezy walk along the avenue twirling something yet unseen Abrupt turn into a narrow door glancing backward just before Did he see me? Should she run? perhaps he has a knife or gun! Chancing it, she waits outside the store he's in there half-an-hour or more Her palms and knees bathed in sweat She's about to concede her foolish bet Then out he comes, joyously a dozen roses, just for me