A Sonnet written in a university classroom in the middle of a class as a task

I lay my rose beneath the tree,
On a rainy day for you to see,
That the house where we used to live
is yet not lost, so please forgive
the star-crossed fate whose hands do swing,
Like a clockwork tic or an old bird's wing

which lay upon this lucid soil
Waiting as a snake that's coiled
Poised to strike with it's poisoned fang
But in my hands an umbrella hangs,
To shelter me from nightly hours
and deafen me from the owl with powers
of persuasion to be alone.

Please forgive me, I am going home.