A fan’s light tap <br />Was enough to chip <br />This flower vase <br />In which the roses <br />Now are dying. <br />No sound it made <br /> <br />But a hairline crack <br />Day after day <br />Almost unseen <br />Crept slowly round the glass <br />And dropp by dropp <br />The water trickled out <br /> <br />While the vital sap <br />In the roses’ stems <br />Grew dry. <br />Now no-one doubts: <br />“Don’t touch”, they say, <br />“It’s broken”. <br /> <br />Often, too, the hand one loves <br />May lightly brush against the heart <br />And bruise it. <br />Slowly then across that heart <br />A hidden crack will spread <br />And love’s fair flower perish.<br /><br />Pete Crowther<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-broken-vase-trans-of-sully-prudhomme/
