This love, with its little grace

Is gifted to each chosen place

 

Glad to receive, most pass it on

They breath, they breed, and bloom anon.

 

Just vestiges remain, of should and must

Its litter stewn, now caked in dust.

 

All is spoiled, with such little care

Despite the bless of mercy there 

 

My passions lichened, as attuned with stone

This form left withered, dissolute - Alone.

 

But, I continue discursed with all around

Striving for unbroken ground