Hammeretto Sour

The scent in the wind, amaretto breeze

A man turns to find where the trail may lead

Filling his nostrils, abrupt stopping freeze

He spots a lady filling cups with mead

He never directly approaches her there

He relies on assumptions and gossip

He leaves her yellow flowers and just stares

She picks the pink ones as those with courtship

He cries and whines his bouquet's the best pick

He didn't see that the yellow was wrong

They reminded her of the color sick

The one who gave false advise giggled long

He was yet to still communicate well

As the opportunity with her fell

The man continued with days passing by

Letting the misunderstandings fester

While still entitled to his awful try

He decided to find ways to pester

Annoying the girl, but not walking up

Using others to irritate her more

The amaretto now a sour cup

It seemed to be all that he could now pour

Trying to please everyone else much more

Than what he is striving to have for gain

The refusal for clarity a chore

Her scent is now a hammer for his pain

He refuses responsibility

Thinking he gives out true civility