They say men only get flowers at their funeral, A sad, common fact. But I got my flowers before my funeral— My flowers came much sooner than that. The first time I heard you cry, And saw your perfect face, I got my flowers then and there, In that quiet, sterile place. When you’d sleep in my arms for hours, Curled up like a bean, I got my flowers all over again— A rush I’d never seen. The first time I made a silly face, And saw your gummy smile, I got my flowers all over again, And forgot the world a while. When I walk inside, And your face lights up for me, I get my flowers every time— Without fail, effortlessly. When they lay me down one day, And place flowers on my chest, They won’t know I’ve had mine already— I got them from the best.

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