Stolen Bouquet

Early morning in the park, I see a woman leaving. What she’s clutching in her hand, I’m not quite believing. A lovely bunch of flowers, Colored purple, yellow, pink: Some daffodils and others, Maybe hyacinths, I think. She’d obviously picked them From the gardens newly sprouting. I’m sure she did it sneakily, Of that there is no doubting. I wanted to confront her With a hearty “J’accuse!” But realized all I’d gain would be Some fury to defuse. And so I walked right by her Feeling angry and resigned, To gaze upon the flowers That she’d kindly left behind.