The Vase and The Persian Rug

I am vase, on a ledge far too high, far too thin, she, a beautiful rug, that lay soft and peaceful. Never was I worried of falling, but now, collapsing on her, is why elevation is my friend. Know, she’s afraid of my fall, so I will stay out of site, out of mind, for never does a masterpiece desire a new stroke of an unfamiliar brush, so I shall stay here, till I am lowered to her, by means I am not certain, with a bouquet that compliments her and her every wove. I will adore you, presently, afar.