It was while walking this morning I came round a corner To so nearly be struck by three roses upon a thorny branch borne. I ducked in annoyance, stepped, then seized by sudden greed spun And grasped at one to tear it from its place and bear it with me where I went, But too late I turned, my fingertips but slid across the surface of the nearest petals And I, not caring so much to stop or step back, walked on with only a memory of what I had wanted.