THE CITY OF RUE

This place has become a delicate garden,
Where I stumble and awkwardly intrude,
I wade up to my senses in a fragrance,
That challenges my irritable mood.
How can one so rumpled and faded,
Find peace among the gentle and fair
Without spreading the ill of the jaded,
Like a weed with only aggravation to share.
Oft have I thought less of myself,
When in the company of  people like you,
That I resort to innuendo  and stealth,
To challenge what is believed to be true.
Thereafter disrespecting my health,
To  reside in the city of rue .

© 21 September 07 by Colin F Jones