child poem

there was never a sound beside the wood but one
a very remarkable history this is
sad are they who know not love
to the passionate lover
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
desolate and lone
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
though i am little as all little things
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
i said
brother, i am fire
this is the arsenal