An apology and a virtual bouquet of flowers

A flower that bloomed just for me, from her head

Sprouted a worm, it said to my flower-girl, “Only satan

Could love you,” so my flower called me the devil,

And like the devil, I hurled a storm at my flower

Girl, and I hurt that delicate flower, too, the most

Precious thing in the world, and all I can think is to

Tell her, Don’t hurt yourself as well, raise your head,

Once more, to light, and I’m sorry, how could I hurt

Something so precious? I must be the devil – you’re right