| We wait with longing, fresh and fragrant, | |
| drinking from these cups of lukewarm water, | |
| waiting for a man to come, | |
| waiting for a man to lift us up and take us home. | |
| |
| He always passes by, that man walking alone, | 5 |
| in his workman's cap and worn-out shoes. | |
| He turns his head to look, he looks at us with longing— | |
| and then he walks away into the night. | |
| He walks away and leaves us here, | |
| soaking our feet in this stale old water. | 10 |
| |
| Here he is again tonight, pausing in his rapid pace. | |
| Will it be tonight? | |
| Will he lift us out of this old warm water, | |
| carry us out in the crook of his arm, | |
| twirl us through the swirling laser, | 15 |
| dip us down into cool fresh water in a clear glass vase | |
| and let us shine his love upon his love | |
| forever till we fade away? | |
| Or were we cut in vain? | |
| |
| He looks at us again, he looks with longing. | 20 |
| His eyes belie the silence of his face, | |
| and as he turns away, we know: | |
| he will not purchase flowers today. | |
| |
| He steps into the night, and does not see | |
| our petals fall into the old warm water. | 25 |
| Our heads will sag, our petals fall, | |
| and we shall wilt and sink back down | |
| to the cold brown earth | |
| never having won a single smile. | |
| |