Love, what more have you come for?
My knees ache, with posture poor,
from uprooting rows of wild weeds,
while you stomp through my flowerbeds,
leaving tracks and looting seeds,
as sunlight leaks ‘tween closed doors-
still, nothing will grow here anymore.
“Two things cannot be in one place. Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow.” – Francis Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden