Put Down Your Obsession
Come child, the sun is gone
leave the land of animal whim.
That shrub, to which you were so drawn,
nod goodbye, it's not your kin.
A flower you loved not for being a rose,
but 'cause from the ones that grow,
it was yours to claim.
Come put that rose to rest,
there are more; just the same.
Waiting to love, from all those who pick,
you; who glimpsed and on a whim,
picked this rose in your childish game.