Florist

Rosy is the florist,

At the corner of my street.

She sells-

Rather say-distributes smiles

In forms of flowers!

She gives people

Natural flowers.

In return, they give her

Formal thanks

And plastic smiles!

Later they exchange,

Warm smiles with their partners With same flowers!

No one has offered her

A flower or a Petal yet.

Why?

She has cutting lips.

So people can't read her

Honest attempts of smile!

But I can read her genuine smile Every time when I pass by.

I can feel her

Fragrance of smile!

She keeps a scented

Plastic rose everyday

In her hair once given by me!

I am sure,

That tender smile and rose

Will never wither;

As we do not exchange

Plastic smiles,

But rosy smiles!