Ken's Poetry

Regret

You took away his life,
your fragile roots
limp stems that never flowered,
and gave him back
a hybrid thing.
Made him only of you,
for he was good
whilst you had evil
knotted in your wood,
paled tired bloom to moon
on early summer sky.
This weed he took
for quiet and comfort’s sake,
burns coldly through
the winter’s night.