Cultivation
You gave me lovely roses,
And so I never peeled their petals.
By the time all these thorns fell on their noses,
They were still as sharp as pine tree nettles.
But you never came back to visit.
You never came back to visit.
Oh! My garden of amaranths and snowdrop zones.
I guess I should’ve known
What was really true:
That every leafy facet
Was not destined to be tended by you.
The aches waded toward the ways of the weeds --
Even the sun fancied the trail of your scent.
Though the roses’ stems are now wilt and bent
The pollen is what my meadow truly needs.
This poem is about:
Me
