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.