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His Roses

You never even asked
For a whiff of their aroma
But the tilt of your head
Did not escape my eyes

While you squandered
Time, I set to work
Sowing, plowing, growing
Until a rose bed bloomed

But in my frenzy,
My mind escaped me
And your tacit request
Gained life of its own.

I offered roses
By the bushel,
Weighed you down
With petals, stems, thorns.

Yet in my zeal,
I gave roses with thorns.
Prickling dots of crimson
Turned to scarlet torrents.



And too late I realized:
My roses could not thrive
thirsty, homeless, unattended.
You’d known it all the while.

By the time I had gathered
All the vases in the land
My petals had crumbled,
Browned and stiffened.

Decaying fragments trickled
Like powder from their stems
And I made a pact,
Swore myself true.

Never again would I
Hand over a garden
To one who only cares
For a single stroll through.





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