goodbye

On my desk, sits a vase, red
The flowers, once given, long dead
The vase, now covered in dust
Made of glass, will never rust
Long-standing, sturdy, true
Emitting a strong red hue
You admire the glass, push it right then left
A gift you gave, now bereft
Soon, you push it toward the ledge
It leaves the desk, over the edge
Landing on the floor, in jagged shards
Cutting my feet, leaving scars