The silver tongued roses in that crystal vase you bought me
Are too flawless for me and my tainted fingertips didn’t you know
I detest their purity and radiance, layers of unattainable perfection
Like sweet scented swans, heads held high, higher than mine
Thorns protecting their loveliness from those who are unworthy
Chastising the eager beneath who grasp desperate at their stems
Grasping to touch their velvety skin so pure and translucent
Commanding my love for how could anyone not adore them?
But I will remain, passing the time, quietly neglecting them
As they age before my eyes, fading to bruised russet and sombre grey
The autumn of their life has come and love is behind them
And I will mourn and fain sadness when the last petal falls.