The Cynic

Clover, green and clever, lucky, blending;

you are precious, one of many, spritely;

sought by greedy gamblers, meant for spending--

worldly lovers take what’s theirs, and rightly.

Bright-eyed wild child, full-bloom flower waiting;

out of touch, in prison, chained by your roots;

seeking admiration, pretty, lonely--

trampling suitors will come for you, too.

Steep tree, iced with amber, full of knowledge;

overflowing time betwixt, and breathing;

sweet and wise as one can be--their savage--

whoring ink tithe, halfwits’ stupid feeding.

Snowflake fair, unique like prints of ill men;

pure, and white, of colors free-- your chills, they

linger, sparkle, bite like murder weapons--

fated, fallen, dirty puddle sunbathed.