He learned to whistle from a young age
“Air is precious, sweetheart, don’t let it go to waste”
The flowers pushed at his feet
He plucked it and saved it for another day

He learned to tease from a young age
“Use your breath for better than to please”
The flowers pushed at his feet
He’d save flower picking for another day

He learned to waste away from a young age
“Honey, your breath smells rotten”
The flowers pushed at his feet
He ignored them to push his terrible thoughts away just to save them for another day

He learned how to hate from a young age
“My son, what’s that you just said?”
The flowers pushed at his feet
He stomped, past praying for a savior as he lost his mind maybe to be recovered for another day