Sitting under the barely flowering rosebush, She listens, to the endless,
Conversations these women were having on their phones,
Spitting chunder and nearly floundering in smoosh, She misses, to be friendless,
Confabulation with gibbon wagging monotones,
Flirting wonder of deadly showering ambush, She wishes, to end this,
Contemplation a swimmin' of starting for home,
The girls smiled at him, and acted all nice,
Wind changing whim, redacting the ice,
Fickleness on air, adapted whether,
To hither to fair, weathered feather... Fella....
Tail of peacock plume, parading proudly,
Ceasing verbal fume, pervading loudly,
The lost credit card, see some decline him
The cost debits hard, to sum it defines him
A muse sort by worth of girth of wallet,
No thought of mirth, girth graphed way of it,
Returned to chatter, verbatimous clatter,
Seeing no matter engaging to flatter
But for she supine, 'neath spindled rose vine,
Line visioned reclined, deemed indeed divine,
Although she saw him, knew to adore him,
She gave him no time, nor inkling or sign,
Though different the game, life's plane pains plain same.
A rose is a rose regardless of the prose,
This was written from the weekend freewrite prompts from 
I'm posting a little late.
The weekend prompt is slightly different to the daily 5 minute single prompt
There are 3 posts, so 3 usually very unrelated prompts that take you in an unexpected direction.
Keep an eye out for