I'm Dyeing a White Rose Black
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
Such a pretty, perfect flower it was.
Too perfect compared to me.
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
But my fingers and eyes and heart are stained,
And yet, nobody will see.
I’m dyeing a white rose black.
Nothing could ever reverse such a crime.
A black rose this rose will be.
poem by Mary Cieslak
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
