Two men bearing potted tulips
in the mall processed with uplifted hands,
solemn as priests presenting the Host.
The younger, who led, looked back to see
if his older companion followed safely.
The old man’s gaze was all on his pot.
He looked neither up ahead,
nor at his feet. He walked down stairs
and did not stumble. “Do they visit
the sick?” I wondered. “Look around,”
you said. Potted tulips fill
the flower boxes. I think they’re thieves.”
“Walking so slow and carefully?”
“They’re too old to run away.”
Tulip Thief -- Johan Lilja