The tulips are blooming outside Morrill Hall, and they got me to thinking. There was a time when I was young and twitterpated, a long way from Jodi with a longing sigh in my lungs. I remember the flower vendors on Yale’s campus in spring, and I remember walking past, because my girl was half a continent away. I remember admiring the colorful splash the tulips made, elegant among the carnations, seductive next to the pinched rose buds, and I remember writing a sappy verse, first in my head, then in a note to her …
Tulips you have, tulips have I—
pure pink, or pastel-painted bliss.
Should we combine them, you and I,
our tulips softly meet—a kiss!
Ah, love! And yeah, I kind of dig flowers …