Puzzled

Eighteen yellow roses arrived today.
Who had sent them, the card didn't say.
Wait, maybe they are meant for a neighbor,
Someone not at homewho needed a favor?
No, the name and the address were clearly mine.
These long stemmed beauties were simply divine.
It's not my birthday. No special event.
I hadn't a clue to the sender's intent.

Why were they yellow, not pink, red or white?
No symbol of purity, passion or youthful delight.
No, these roses didn't come from any fellow.
Certainly no man I know would ever choose yellow.
And why eighteen? Is the number significant?
On my dining table, they look magnificent.


I don't know the meaning of this fragrant gift.
Maybe a friend wants my spirits to lift.
Or maybe an old enemy wants to relive
Some error on my part she just can't forgive.
As I revisit with dread every sin from my past,
She might laugh with revenge at last.

Or maybe an older friend worries about me,
A widow with no man and no family.
But I am strong and can live without romance
Though I wouldn't mind it, if I had the chance.
Undone by a mystery that I can't solve,
I'll enjoy these flowers and let life evolve.