senior year
look sister, quick sister
do you see what I have wrecked?
by accident, sweet accident,
there I did it while clearing weeds
it was your flowers I was trying to protect.
stomp left, step right
there stood one magnificent flower
one rare rose (unpicked pride)
and the Bee hissed in my ear
the feeling of jealousy raged inside.
we stared each other down
the rare rose and I
it flawed no visible flaw
but the Bee breathed buzzing
and I felt the control before me.
raw.
Shamefully, I picked the rare rose
before its well deserved time
in its outstanding prime
my mind seasoned my fatal actions
to make believe. I pulled a weed.
No one would believe your rose was real.
And its murder was my gardener’s deed.
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