Poor Flower, Poor Heart

By: Wilona Riva

Disclaimer: Don't own the poem or the cartoon. The poem for this chapter is called "Vestments Are the Words; the Body, Feeling" by William Croft.

Vestments are the words; the body, feeling;
As love is clothed in words to fit the fashion,

"Still haven't figured it out, Mr. Fenton?" his English teacher asked, amusement flavoring his voice. "It has been more than two years, you know."

"I'm aware of that," Danny told him acidly. "I got both Sam and Valerie carnations that year."

"Gave," Mr. Lancer corrected him. "They were interesting color combinations, I will admit." He distinctly remembered the amusement on the girls' faces when the student council representative popped up at his door with two flowers for each girl during the annual Casper High Valentine's Day Sweetheart Carnation Drive.

Letting art romanticize its passion -
Embellishing, soliciting, revealing.

"Striped and yellow for Valerie," Danny admitted, "and purple and white for Sam."

"Regret, disappointment, apologetic and pure love," Mr. Lancer whispered to the boy in front of him. "Ah, those are the days of youth. So what will you do this year, Mr. Fenton, to find the lucky girl who stole your heart?"

"I've already made arrangements," Danny said, standing up. "May I be excused from detention, Mr. Lancer? I'll make it up to you by staying an extra hour on Friday."

Mr. Lancer examined the half-grown youth in front of him, then nodded. His green eyes twinkled slightly, as if he knew a secret that had yet to be shared.

Nor can a truth be true without concealing
The thousand other truths that need attention,
Insisting on at least a passing mention,
Not willing to let go without appealing.

The waves flowed around her, warming the chill of her blood. "You came," she stated, no emotion in her voice.

"I'm sorry it took me so late to listen to the truth of my heart," he said, landing lightly behind her.

"Three years, Danny," she said, pulling the hood of her cloak tightly around her, so he wouldn't see the tears forming in her apple-green eyes.

Each love, therefore, shows more by showing less,
'Neath cloth cut well to hint at subtleties,
Setting off the swaths of naked skin.

"But better late than never," he whispered, pulling her tightly into his arms. He spun her around, the hood of her cloak falling back, revealing a sweetheart-shaped face framed by sapphire flames.

"Phantom," she began, silenced by his lips.

Do, then, pay due diligence to dress,
As what one says discovers what one sees,
Yielding to and shaping what's within.

"How did you do it?" he asked, when they broke apart so he could get some air.

"That's my secret," she murmured, pulling his lips to hers once more.