Rose
I picked a rose on a cold, rainy day.
From my field of doubt, I then turned away.
But this rose was like no other, petals weak from distress
so in a heart-shaped vase I set her to rest.
And with time and great care a new bud appeared.
I nurtured her blossom with pride and she neared
the point when she'd bloom and spread love across
the garden of joy my soul had once lost.
Then time brought back anger long locked away
in a part of my conscience I thought it would stay.
It's shackles broke free and it's bars flew aside,
ans slowly the petals of my rose fell, denied.
Her love was now tainted by my lack of care,
and before I knew it, was no longer there.
My vase then fell, shattered, my mind now bereaved,
for I let die a flower I thought I had saved.
My garden of joy returned to the field of doubt,
and my rosebud went searching for a garden without
hate, pain, and sadness; a true paradise.
She wouls still be my flower, had I only thought twice.
B Heath harris/(c) 2009
From my field of doubt, I then turned away.
But this rose was like no other, petals weak from distress
so in a heart-shaped vase I set her to rest.
And with time and great care a new bud appeared.
I nurtured her blossom with pride and she neared
the point when she'd bloom and spread love across
the garden of joy my soul had once lost.
Then time brought back anger long locked away
in a part of my conscience I thought it would stay.
It's shackles broke free and it's bars flew aside,
ans slowly the petals of my rose fell, denied.
Her love was now tainted by my lack of care,
and before I knew it, was no longer there.
My vase then fell, shattered, my mind now bereaved,
for I let die a flower I thought I had saved.
My garden of joy returned to the field of doubt,
and my rosebud went searching for a garden without
hate, pain, and sadness; a true paradise.
She wouls still be my flower, had I only thought twice.
B Heath harris/(c) 2009
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