Flowers ruffle my ankles as I brush past their home;
Quite quiet out today, but nothing stays peaceful in Rome.
The journey to the dome, where she stays,
Is paved by stone--none are grey.

Maybe they are not even stones,
But only the flowers outgrown
By the lone soil.
A recoil by the royal.

My heart breaks at the fact of broken stems,
For it feels as if I smashed limbs;
Crimson spills on those who do
Break the heart of ones who love you.

The Clarks hold up in the manor below,
Never blown into town, only seen by the crow.
They had been shown light, and they scattered;
Tattered and worn clothes are the only things that mattered.

The almost endless trail kept me occupied,
And she sat at home, her brain fried--the sky cried.
A tiny dragon lived within me;
It would seem he fueled the fire you see.