dead rose

A Brown Thumb

All the grass around me dies,

For two miles as the crow flies.

And you should never think to doubt

That the seeds I plant will die as they sprout.

It’s been years since I saw a flower bloom;

When they meet me they meet their doom.

And you will not see a living tree

Within fifteen miles of me.

I don’t know why, just that I can’t

Prevent the death of any plant.

In fact, I kill them with greater ease

Than any insect, animal, vine, or disease.

At first, I thought it might be something in the dirt,

But I now know it’s me who causes their hurt.

I once hoped bad water might be the cause,

But truthfully the fault lies in my own flaws.

I cannot keep a plant alive,

No matter what amenities I contrive.

A good life I cannot provide,

For a potted plant kept inside.

And outside there is only death,

For any plant the feels my breath.

Not even a cactus will manage to thrive,

Not so long as I survive.

I may never see a flower bud,

For every seed I plant becomes a dud.

I’ve now given up on growing a garden,

And soon I think the ground will harden.

I know now that I’d have to be dumb,

Not to realize that I have a brown thumb.