Shame
In a moment, she was out the back door,
And turned green cat eyes on me;
Rare vase lay broken on the floor,
And guests just arriving to tea.
Her ears lay flat upon her head,
As she humbly crouched along,
Little cakes and tarts of cherry red,
And soon would hear birds' evensong.
The antique vase lay creamy white,
And covered in vines green and gold,
And tiny, beauteous birds in flight;
Three hundred years old.
Abby lingered in stillness of afternoon,
And once more the doorbell rang.
It appears they'd arrived too soon;
Fragrant pies of lemon meringue.
Trampled violets and roses from the garden wane,
They lay there so wet and so lovely;
And bloom for now and never come again,
Though tea is served at three.
Abigail sat darkly upon the porch rail,
The guilt in her eyes apparent,
And swatted a bee with her tail,
And garden smells were prevalent.
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