Oi, You! Yes, You.
Her pious Garden had hues of love,
Soaked in scarlet below and above,
Ludicrously you purloined the fruits and trees,
Ludicrously you exhibited a slice of bees…
O woe! It was Her sanctity.
You held a fragile Bloom in your hand,
Slothfully you rendered it to a heedless land,
Slothfully you ripped its vermillion petals apart…
O woe! It was Her tender heart.
You touched a chalice of limpid wine on eclipse,
Airily you raised it to insouciant lips,
Airily you quaffed and hurled away the bowl…
O woe! It was Her genuine Soul.