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.