If I knew why it mattered, would it matter so much…
Would I slash it’s roots hard before it had me in its clutch?
Could I not have seen it come, at its creepy bower’s pace
With nasty grips and thorns besides with smiley flowery face.
I gladly nuzzled in fragranced boughs – surely these don’t bite!
All the while, even I could see, I was trapped in the land of trite.
Peeling the succour off my sleeves, I half heartedly tried to rise…
And as I made a move to leave, they were upon me in new disguise.
Showered with petals as gentle as love, who could, dear heart, be riven?
So here I am in state – or fate, the nail that must be driven.