Shit on my Roses

There’s shit on my roses

Brown, caked, and dried

Each pillowy petal

Withered and fried

Delicate pink

And blood red divine

Sunshiny yellow

All in shit in their prime

Unabashed, their display

In my garden outside

Defiant they stand

Bathed in beauty and grime

The heavy cakes fall

And crumble to bits

But my sweet darling roses

Are still covered in shit

Brown specs and streaks

Remain on these flowers

To clean them is fruitless

Because, within hours….

Fresh excrement drips

To the roots formed in strife

Churning my death

Into buttery life

But shit specs remain

On the top of each bud

So take your bouquets, friends,

And stand in my mud

There’s shit on my roses,

And far better, is it

Than would be the lie

Of a rose on my shit.