Sunday, 14 October 2012

Thought Picnic: My Rose

A solemn remembrance
My love was like a rose, its beauty indescribable, its fragrance made me swoon, I was so love sick, I was sick, I was in love.
I beheld my rose from afar and my heart melted, for it was comely and pleasant to see, the day brightened for me.
To touch my rose I could not, for the thorns of the rose bush pricked me deep, it always drew blood and it hurt so badly.
The tincture I applied stanched the flow of blood but it hurt the more, yet I loved my rose.
My heart was soft, my heart was hard, my heart could feel the mighty blows, but my heart could not break; for my rose, my heart would bounce.
I watered my rose and it withered, I let it be and it blossomed, it was so contrary for long I did tarry.
I dreamt of a rose garden with just one rose and gave everything to see my rose many times, but it wilted when it should not that I did tire for its upkeep; I pruned it no more.
As the dawn broke many times, the fragrance of my rose wafted into my room but I abhorred my garden for the hurt of the thorns.
Not long after I went into my garden and my rose was gone, it was far gone; I mourned my rose, I grieved for my rose, I pined for my rose but it was gone, gone forever.
Three years gone, my rose, my love, my thorn, my ache, rest ye well; yes, my love was like a rose.
Always missed; never forgotten.

1 comment: