You return home to discover a huge flower bouquet waiting for you, no card attached. Who is it from — and why did they send it to you?
Sweet smell of roses, thorns have been cut
wrapped in an ornament, by my apartment window it sat
no special occasion, I think, no event to celebrate
it must have been hours, poor thing just waits…
Tired, I must be, from crawling firmaments and towers
Web of confusion and uncertainty, questions despite my pow’rs
“Where must these come from, no idea my sirs
But the thought one admires me, happy feeling it stirs!”
Aunt May may have sent these, but she’s got no time, she’s busy
Harry must have thanked me, but needs are abound in his company
Oh Gwen, she must miss me, my only love, my only one
But really, everyone loves me! your friendly neighborhood, Spider-Man!
I have no idea really, but whoever sent these, thanks! – Peter