She thinks,
she thinks she could quite like you,
she wonders,
she wonders if offers ever genuine,
are  they worth playing with?

In her life,
genuine is non-existent,
she may even grow to love you,
now,
those roses thorns are all stripped bare,
the once decadent silver foliage,
repatriated to the garden,
to be mulched into dreams of what may come,
compost for the compos mentis,
should the lady of the day be lucky?
she was right to doubt,
so right!
(C) Livvi