De-thorn my roses
Gather the fallen petals
Leave the leaves
To settle into compost
That gathers at the bottom
Of my heart
Rake the ashes
Over these skinny bones
Salt the slugs
On the vegetables
Pump the chemicals
So I may flower bright
But this unnatural growth
Will lead to my death
See how I flower
So radiantly
See how I wither
At the first touch
Of doubts finger
See this garden
This little isle
Of artificial growth
Smiling so falsely
In the bright sun
But the weeds
Will soon take over
But the weeds
Just grow stronger
Do you weed
My thoughts once again.
Mudcrow
May 13 1999.
