L&O Svu: 'The Bouquet' Poem by D A Phinney

Violets are blue. Roses? Just dead.
Our side glances ask: which heart came out ahead?

And the wet morning mist somehow amps up the tone
Of this metaphor carelessly cast upon stone.

Staired upon, stepped upon, strewn to the door,
No effort to hide what had gone down before.

The long stems all broken, night's echoes long hushed.
The long box of hope lying empty and crushed.

At the scene of the crying, we're playing our part
In forensic disection of an unlucky heart.

No passerby could have been an ignorer
Of the carnage so wrought in such perfect horror,

But witnesses never step forth to depose
On hearts stolen or broken. That's just how it goes.

In this city of sirens, we all hear the call
And here some poor Ulysses... just lost it all.

So no one to pin this on, no one around,
Even Sympathy's gang have all gone to ground,

And Love's long since fled-or is that only true
Where roses run red amid violets so blue?