The Flower Salesman

My Lord,
you are that man
who stands
on the off-ramp,
selling flowers
in the rain.
(Where do you get them?)
Like a child
I pray
to be rich
enough
to buy all your flowers,
to get you
out of the rain,
off the off-ramp.

But then what?

Then let my fantasy
become fidelity
and a promise
to weather storms
with you,
my friend.
You are that man
who stands
on the off-ramp,
selling flowers
in the rain.