It was a beautiful thing
It came about by chance
It would have been good
It ripped my pants
Alas it couldn’t be allowed to grow
Unmanageable, the garden,
And so the decision was made
To break the branches before they harden
The fruit it bore
Could have been sour
The foliage too green
Belladonna, the flower
But since it broke
I’ve missed it a lot
Nothing much else
To be, it was not
But part of me hopes
That it will grow once more
In a more manageable way
Than it did before.
