Long I walked through a flower field
before my eyes deemed a rose fair.
My papers trembled, each page sealed,
each word affright at petals bare,
when a furious flurry peeled
them from my hands into the air.
Now to choose: the papers or the rose?
Each gale endangered their being
and I could not protect the two.
Swift my mind ran, all sense fleeing,
as my legs chased the sheets that flew.
Soon collected from the freeing
wind, back to the rose my eyes drew.
There it stood proud but bald of stem,
plucked of every scarlet petal.
Turning my back to the mayhem,
I left there, lacking the mettle
to gaze long on that broken gem
of cracked grace and fallen fettle.