Another Cliché (Ditty)

A vagabond,
I used to be.
Running empty,
On broken dreams.

Plucking hearts,
Along the way.
Like paper flowers,
Put on display.

Then came you…
One summers day.
A beautiful rose-
A new bouquet.

With guileful colors,
Matching dark and grey.
Changing everything,
To my dismay.

Now autumn falls,
As leaves decay.
And a broken heart,
I now portray.

A hearts wilted rose,
You left in disarray.
And now this vagabond,
Has lost her way.

(Leaving me to replay,
Another broken cliché.)