I keep the flowers you gave me In a little room in my heart. Sometimes, you come in And ask me to dance. We move and turn and glide In the golden glow of candles That I place there every night. Sometimes, when you don't come, I light the candles And hold the flowers And dream of you. And when dawn's first light Breaks over my sill, I'm there, waiting for you, still.
Michael: You may be right. Like a lot of writers, I often have a poem "triggered" by something I hear or see or read. I used to worry about that, but over time, I have discovered that almost always, the trigger is just that, a trigger. I'm not familiar with the movie you're talking about. Thanks for the comment.
Glen Hope, PA USA