The Conceit
A sprig stands tall
Ornamented
by the season
Rich and
Green
Reticent
and unheeded
A sprightly
force clasped
Weakened
her grip
Knifed her
heart
Scoffed he,
at her bewildered eyes
Tiny be
your tiny tales, I thus desire
Tables laid
Wines served
The sprig ,all
dressed to her nines
Clinking glasses
Mirthful folks
Smithereens
feasted
The cuisinier
delighted, takes a bow
