On time for which Id rather not

The heavy-footed thug storms thru the sage

Crushing the flower that adored his table

Now petal’s pigment stains the stone

“She loves me not” rattles the walls

His victim defeated before he began

His rants begin to strike his rage

But burdened by the weight of the shouldered beast

He scrapes to the floor

While what remains of the rose soaked in sorrow shivers away

—Howard Hain

(ca. 2000)