Cut me into ribbons.

Leave me burned and chopped and charred.
'til the pieces that i build up
are left broken, bruised and scarred.

I am cautious in your garden
that my hands and scent won't touch
all the pristine, perfect flowers
and the pretty, precious buds.

I am not the kind to sully
any wondrous word or will.
I was born to eat the filth and
I was born a shell to fill.

I am nothing in your garden
but a dog for you to use
and if it indeed is needed
I will live to be abused.