Daisy chain crowns
and dandelion wishes,
petals pressed within
the pages of a book
of love poetry, the last
petal proudly proclaiming
he loves me indeed,
yellowed diary entries
faded by time, his name 
and little hearts drawn 
in the margin, she practiced 
writing her name as Mrs. 
so-and-so, her first name 
attached to his last, diary
entries exclaimed with 
delight how he actually 
looked her way, and right 
at her, just for a second, 
for reals, thus it must be 
love, for what could be 
a more clear sign of true 
love than such a deliberate 
glance?
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