Any eye casted toward
the corner of the yard
noticed how this spot,
wild and overgrown
was  like
foliage of the forest.

To her the spot was
evidence of rebellion
for it was real,
not patterned
or contrived like their days
had grown

The rugged corner drew her
to childhood memories,
smells, and signs
of the unspoiled countryside
of a time before she
became tame and docile

How could he destroy
this one rebel plot?
How could he bulldoze
the one rough-hewn patch
like he had purged
all  unpretentious blood
from her heart?