You were the red cherry,

Hanging on a tree.

I was the snow,

Covering the hills.

I wanted to fall

On top of you

To form something pink.


A pink house,


With a garden,

Not of your thorns,

And definitely not my roses


Of OUR lillies.


It was simple maths,

Genetics and Stats.


The science however

Did not work.

The grand experiment,

All went wrong.


And I was left alone,

In the darkness,

That was not my own


But neither was it yours.

There is no one to blame.


Perhaps the theories

should be checked

On mice,

And not on men.

Tell that to Mrs. Whiskers though,

She lost her hubby,

And seven children

To the noble science

And chemistry.

What a Tragedy!

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