Poem By Any Other Name

I gave my love a plastic rose, "a flower
that will never wilt," I said. "You fool," she said.
"You haven't given me a flower."

I gave my love a presséd rose. "It's color
will not fade," I said. "Nice try," she said.
"A stuffed dog would have such power."

So I gave my love a fresh-cut rose. Years later,
when I asked her why she left, she said:
"You did not give another."