Roses

I never promised you a rose garden.
Or maybe I did, in a wild moment.
I beg your pardon.

In a moment of wine drunk abandon,
idealism rising to foment:
perhaps I promised you a rose garden.

There are blossoms where thorns harden
around my green-thumbed attempts:
they too beg pardon.

Broken shovels and rakes also burden
a space ripe with weeds’ intent.
I never promised it would be a rose garden.

And my broken nails, caked with pollen
and soil testify to my lament:
I beg your pardon.

Some people make it look easy, this bargain
with hard work and time. All efforts spent,
I failed to achieve a rose garden,
and for that I beg your pardon.

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This NaPoWriMo prompt had to do with song lyrics and a villanelle. Thank you for reading!