A Rose
Like a Rose, my love; full of thorns
and I am wounded hour by hour
from spikes that are his armour.
He is beautiful, with fine red petals.
They adorn his greenery. So lush;
this graceful and proud flower.
But why so prickly, hot, then cold,
when all I yearn is tenderness,
and all I seek is warm embrace.
Like a Rose he stings; day by day
and when I cling to him, I bleed
as he watches true love, fade away.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
