The white-haired old lady

Cradled the lilacs

In her arms and wept.

For some reason

She thought I had

Brought them to her

From the old farm

Where she grew up.

“Thank you so much,

Young man,” she sobbed,

“You have no idea

what these mean to me.”

She squeezed my hand.

And there, in her eye,

Something magical!

I had really picked

The lilacs right outside

The building, but she

Touched my soul,

So I chose the lesser sin,

And quietly left.