I am no flower, on a bush,
be I pulled petals you plucked.
In what good, my petals,
be they bruised and of no use?
I am no more, the avenger,
be I planted plausibly or not.
In dark nor light, should might,
be my notions assertively nurtured.
I am no rotting root, in doorways,
be my mistakes made in distraught.
In remorse nor deflection, brought here,
be my petals posited and weeping.
I am no less the rose, unforgivingly wilted,
be my grounding given in this grievance.
This poem can be found on poetry.com-http://poetry.com/poems/265798