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Mulch ado about nothing?
She took a leaf from off her favourite tree
and held it to the light within her heart.
The pictures it portrayed of what may be
were sadly lacking that one vital part.
She'd hoped the leaf had held some of the two,
who'd sat beneath it's shade so many times.
She sought to see the things they'd yet to do
had they not been exposed to Kismet's crimes.
But, as the leaf was newly born this year
it held none of the essence which she sought.
It hadn't known the love, the hope, the fear.
It knew not of her calculated plot.
She watched it fall to ground, one passing thought.
She walked away, and left it, there to rot.
poem
by
Hola Mentirosa
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