ROSE AT MY FEET,RUBBING PEBBLES IN THIS FIT

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Rose at my feet,rubbing pebbles in this fit,
I reconvene and make a tease,
Making fun out of deceit,
If destiny was a mistress,
Then I'd be making calls making inquest, 
Inquest about my luck and my contests.

It started in my lab,
Making mixtures out of tabs,
A jolly ink-tank with  much talent at heart,
But this cruel life wouldn't have it,
I aimed perfect but missed the bullhead,
Too much at stake ,too much at playing darts.

Why the sudden mishap?
Why do roses have to wilt?
I make faces before the wrap,
Am angry at the world!
For making me lovesick,such a fuss,
The agonies of life,too much for cards.

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