Walked through the precinct where love once was habitual.
Met lady with blood of Romany.
‘Cross my palm with silver my dear.’
And love you will find so very near’.
Gave her heather.
A non-scented dry piece.
She said to the lady who purchased .
Good God my dear.
I feel you’re lucky.
The old white dried out heather.
Left stuck on the shelf.
Implanted in pot, where her incense once dwelt.
Still sits there waiting for love or luck.
Either one will do.
Heather didn’t give her much joy.
Sad lady was misled.
Never mind said she.
Staring at her heather.
Still sitting in her incense pot.
Giving up on love.
After all these months of chill.
He thinks she will get over him.
She knows she never will!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)