The Rose


The other day, I saw a lonely rose,

Poised gracefully over its fragile stem,

The dazzling, blinking sun flirtatiously

Appeared to make it blush a crimson red,

Fully abashed, yet ready to expose

With neither nonchalance nor icy phlegm,

Its scented self, as so vivaciously

It proudly showed its brightly-petaled head.

Today, the soil is bare and left alone

Without the beauty of its only rose.

I witness naught but one expectant bed

Where down beneath the germs of love abide —

The source from which true love must yet be born,

Not to remain in any long repose,

But soon exhaust its energy instead,

Around itself with dignity and pride.

In its own time and oft-beleaguered space

Each of its kind must play a common role

Within some garden of a yearning heart,

While in its own ability confide

To hold itself with undiminished grace,

Never to fail to charm the human soul;

And so the rose being Nature’s ageless art,

Time itself shall never brush aside.




Awesome! And thanks for connecting. Incidentally, as you might be aware, I am a novelist, with three novels to my credit, titled, ALL ABOUT BRIAN, THE LION AND THE SUN, BETTER LAZTE THAN NEVER. Please join my network and keep up the good work.

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