The speaker gives someone flowers because words feel inadequate—he says the flowers have more language than his song. He has whispered a private message into them along the green lanes of Allary, a place name that gives the moment a grounded, local intimacy.
What he wants the recipient to remember is tied to fading: watching the flowers wilt will call back quiet paths, quiet eyes, and two people who gave themselves to love. One heart he calls foolish, the other overwise—so the relationship feels uneven or bittersweet, as if love was real but not simple. The mood is tender and elegiac, full of affection but shadowed by loss or distance. It feels like a small, private goodbye, carried by something as fragile as cut flowers.