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Little Ganesha in Toonpura

This story is about tiny city of Toonpura. A little boy named Ganesha lived in this small town, which was located near a river. Daily life was very simple for him as he was very religious and he used to sit near the temple and wait for the morning worship of Lord Ganesha.
Only family member who was left alive of this little boy was his loving grandmother. Every day he prayed for her long life because she was the only one who actually truly loved him. He used to sell beautiful red roses whenever he could find some. With the little money which he could get by selling the roses, with that money the boy used to purchase sweets for his grandmother to eat.
One day he saw a large crowd gathered to visit the temple of Ganesha. He was excited because today he thought that lot of red roses will be sold since so many people are visiting the temple. Ganesha came running with his basket of flowers and started requesting the crowd to purchase his flowers. Some people said to him please go away since we are in hurry as Lord Ganesha is waiting for us. A liitle girl saw the red roses and told the boy please give me a rose. Without worrying about the money, he just gave one rose to her. She smiled back at him and this brought a smile on the face of Ganesha as well.
Then he went further and started asking others to purchase his roses as well, slowly some kind devotees started to buy his roses and this added a smile on the face of the little boy. The little girl whom he gave a rose came with a one rupee coin and said this is for you my friend. He said thank you by asking the reason as to why all of a sudden so many visitors are here. Girl said to the boy, Ganesha is drinking milk today. The little boy said to the little girl, really? To this she replied, yes this is true.
Ganesha got in the line with his basket of flowers. Gradually the devotees started to move ahead and feed lots of milk to the marble statue of Lord Ganesha. To the utter surprise of Ganesha, the statue did drink the milk. He suddenly spoke in his soft voice, please give me milk also to drink as I like it a lot and my name is Ganesha. I am very hungry as I have eaten nothing since the morning. The little girl, whom he met earlier in the crowd, came running with a cup of milk which she took from her mother. My friend Ganesha, the girl said, here is milk for you also so please do not be sad.

poem by Rohit Sapra
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Related quotes

You know Ganesha!

Ganesha you are bountiful
benevolent,
generous, so kind,

You give
You shower,
everybody’s prayers

howsoever petty,
You answer,
open-handed.

They rejoice
when they see you,
their faces

and spirits
beam/gleam
in delight.

What I watch
with awe is
when they

carry you on them,
for immersion
after week-long

festivity,
you seem
to enjoy

that ride
reveling…as if you’re
a small child

being taken
on a piggy-back
joy ride,

your face smiles
in each facet
contented and satisfied

looking forward to
the immersion,
happy,

please Ganesha
give me the boon
that I too smile

the same smile
when they carry
me for the final immersion,

they know
that they will
find you back

in the spark of the
sanctum sanctorum
from where they

picked you up,
but you please immerse
me in your Spark

I do not want to return,
Come on this should not
be hard for you,

may be it is
after all amidst all
the delirious screaming

my humble prayers
fail to reach you,
and you do not care

You are happy
to see everyone
but you avoid my eye,
because
in the heart of your hearts
You know

that I am
smiling
but in my

heart there is
despair,
despair!

poem by Chhavi Anupam
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from 'Ragas For Krishna' Part 2

I have been encouraging Krishna (which is a funny thing to say, Krishna being a bold, blue God) to find a language coach to help him with his accent, to tone it down while keeping the wonderful music/lilt of it...he complains of tilting his head as he talks 'as all Indians do' but I insist he merely speak and let his head and hands speak, too, in their own way. If he does more public events he will need to be understood clearly when he speaks while preparing his magnificent dishes from his country, his rich feasts of stories of the chilies from his mother's garden entwined by morning glories, the morning cock already at quarrel with the world just beyond the tin reaching in to take some spices too enticing to refuse...

I always feel as if he is, or will soon be, bored with me and my humble 'ministrations' but he sweeps into my little room like a Raj, a young prince beaming, brimming full of stories to tell me, usually some food spicy hot he has prepared for me offered with a grin. Then he strips instantly down, lays upon the down pallet in easy, unabashed nakedness - it catches my breath, I do want to see! I hurriedly 'hide' my Ganesha, the prominent statue of the god I have in front of my useless fireplace; this hiding I half understand...but still, naked, he has a fresh and beautifully made tattoo of Ganesha on his shoulder, he wears a Ganesha necklace, a Ganesha bracelet, and a Ganesha waist scapular, the image of which is just below his navel. So why, I ask only myself and Ganesha, never Krishna, why must I hide my large wooden Ganesha statue? But I do hide Him in deference to Krishna's wishes and meanwhile have intercourse with the god-in-miniature, scraping a necklace trunk with an ear, a tongue, receive a scapular kiss of the image upon my forehead as I trace those wonderful hairlines of the male body on my way to other deities.

Ah! give me all the cabbages in the world in all my poverty! Am I not, too, a Raj of floors and scented pillows, this beaming god beneath me thrusting utterly to reveal his secrets, his desires, his pleasures to me who am not, when all is done, a god?

Life, dear Valdosta, over all, is good, yes? I wish it no ill. But, agreeing with the cock, I will quarrel, even fight, with life when young men still leap too soon from bridges because I have learned (and relearn it hard lesson by hard lesson at a time) visionary company insists its tracings in many forms, man to man being but one holy expression, those sons, burning mother's hands upon them demanding, insisting to life that each her sons is a rajah, a Sleepy Bee.

So please the intemperate humanity, in the face of patient deities the burning ones are leaping still and I am ill with grief, with prayer, their dead bodies gone, their now emptier hands.

And he leaves me.

I return to my poems.

The room is filled with Krishna, aromas of rose oil in his hair, pungent spices in his sweat and upon his hands and skin, and sex.

I retrieve Lord Ganesha out from his little sanctuary of hiding (it seems I am always retrieving deities) and we both laugh richly. I remember to sprinkle some cologne upon Him, to pour out some milk into His votive bowl, to rub His belly, to light another candle (the other extinguished, panting, while we were busy bees exchanging knees and sighs, diffusing male spices into bracing air, fingers upon oily chilies thickening in always morning hunger) .

I light more incense and thank Lord Ganesha in all his forms, appearing both large and small, His adornment of Secrets, though one cannot easily hide an Elephant, man-love, and more in such a small universe whose toes I seek to tickle then gather for a shoe as tides shrink and swell, grow and diminish depending upon the worshipers, those who will do so in spite of those who would kill delicate or manly infidels whose worship, forever babies breath, is all the more meaningful.

Be damned the trellises. The petals shall reach, shall extend outward.

The violin's throat is cut.

'Do not ask me to see it! '

poem by Warren Falcon
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September Villanelle

SEPTEMBER VILLANELLE

September invokes something special in my ancient country
No 'Fall' here, no amber leaves, upon her crowded earth
Her billion people stand united, share the Indian psyche

Post monsoon, the land is a lush green mostly
Amid her crowded cities, one feels the warmth of her burning hearth
September invokes something special in my ancient country

In this land of a thousand festivals, one stands primary
It's the worship of Lord Ganesha, the elephant God of divine birth
Her billion people stand united, share the Indian psyche

The son of Shiva is worshipped by all with glee
Massive idols of Ganesha smile and spread the mirth
September invokes something special in my ancient country

India has cultures, religions and castes aplenty
Open to all festivals; of a free spirit no dearth
Her billion people stand united, share the Indian psyche

Yet, September brings with it sorrow too, the fall of the towers in NY City
The fallen unite in death the Earth's entire girth
September invokes something special in my ancient country
Her billion people stand united, share the Indian psyche

poem by Manjula Reddy
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A Best Emperor!

Besides poet, people birds, animals too love freedom;
Lion may be king of jungle but elephant is emperor!
This big, best emperor called gentle giant is humble
And accepts to bless devotes, escort Temple deities!

This huge animal emperor is kept as van in temple slot,
A humiliating sight to see, yet it humbly accepts the role!
For stomach satisfying food emperor surrenders, serves
And sustains with faith and gratitude to men and God!

A wonder to see freedom loving natural animal living so!
Is it a fate or destiny for the best emperor to live so here?
Child like and divine looking elephant is chiseled as God
Called as Lord Ganesha is animal, man and divine in one!

When will this big, best emperor get freedom from man
Know not, think I, whenever I see standing before Temple?

poem by Ramesh T A
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Miser

I had the money
To buy aplenty
And I did spend
On buying gold
For the temple deity.

Prayed, I diligently
Every morning of
Every day,
Even my night
Ended in prayers
To the almighty.

I spent lavishly
On incense,
To get the best
Fragrance ~
For my favourite
Gods – Rama, Krishna
And Sai Baba.

I made sure the
Purohits had
Enough booty
From my share of wealth
To perform
All the holy functions
Impeccably without
Any dearth of
Religious amenities
So that I and my family
Are blessed by the
Holy trinity of
Om Shivai Namaha,
Vishnu and Brahma.

And yet after spending
So much on so many
Candles, sweets, savouries
And garlands of flowers
In their beautiful bounty,
I understand not
Why people still call me
A Miser,
When I tell them that my money
Is for the good, noble cause of
Sanctity, upholding the
Sanctum sanctorum of the
Temple deity,
And not squandering
On giving alms to
Beggars and lepers
Who line the streets
Anticipating my pity.

I, a miser?
God Almighty
I gift you so much
Out of love, affection
And duty.
They misunderstand me,
Don’t they?
For they call me a miser
As I feed you instead of
The hungry souls staring
At me with hunger, poverty
And depravity…

But then, for me,
Religion comes first
So does the opulence
In religious duty.
Hence, I please you
Almighty, with all the
Frills and fills of
Sumptuous feasts and
Social elaborations of
Kali Pooja, Durga Pooja,
Ganesha Chaturthi, Dussehra
And Diwali, not to mention
My very own home worship
Of the goddess of wealth
And prosperity – Lakshmi Pooja

Yet, they say I’m a miser?
Can they not see how lavishly
I spend to please thee…
O God Almighty,
Are they blind?
Give them some vision
So that they can see some
Clarity in my charity that I do
To appease the purohits -
So that they take good care of you
And in turn, I’m taken care by you.

The lepers and the beggars,
May they suffer their Karma
Let them go bothering others
But not me – as I’m with thee.

In your esteemed comradeship,
I’m above and beyond them.
Let me not stoop below to uplift them
Lest I fall and slip on the very floor
They are on, and in the process,
Lose thee, O God Almighty.

Me, a miser?
Let them say
And call me such
Miserable names.
I, once and for all,
Will always…
Classify myself
As an ardent devotee.

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Broremann The Farmhand

Broremann, the farmer worker.

Every morning at five thirty sharp, my brother Broremann
had to milk five cows by hand bring bucket full of goodness
to the scullery where maid sifted it and in a churn it went.
He had to start milking Rose first, she was the mother cow
other cows wouldn´t give milk unless he started with her.
After milking Broremann had to clean the barn five cows
make a lot of dung; he pushed it down in a hole in the wall
it was later used to fertilize the land. My brother was proud
of his ability to milk and his hands were, firm yet gentle.
There was a problem though Rose didn´t yield as much milk
as before as she was getting elderly and the farmer sold her
to the knacker’s yard. It was a sad day and the other cows
mooed woefully. The farmer bought a new cow to take Rosa´s
place, but Broremann couldn´t milk her first, as she was new-
comer, so he started with Gerda, now the oldest cow, and milk
the new one last, thus rural peace continued in the cow shed.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Ten Roses

For every tear you cry,
I cry a hundred thousand more,

I'll give you ten roses,
For everything you're fighting for.

The first will be a red rose,
For courage and for health,

The second a bright yellow rose,
For gaining all life's wealth,

The third will be a soft pink rose,
So you may be happy in love,

The fourth will be a white rose,
Brought by a turtledove,

The fifth will be an orange rose,
To give you back your fire,

The sixth will be a deep pink rose,
So you may have what you desire,

The seventh will be a coral rose,
To gain you many friends,

The eighth will be a purple rose,
To guide you through life's bends,

The ninth will be a pale yellow rose,
To give you hope to try,

The tenth will be a black rose,
So you can mourn me when I die.

I have to leave my dearest friend,
But may the roses last you til my end,

I'm sorry I could not say goodbye,
Though ten roses I leave by your side.

I leave you with a kiss,
Along with these rose flowers,

I know I will be missed,
But I pray the roses will give you power,

Power to go on my love,
Power to be strong,

Power to get over me,
And let your life carry on

poem by Ruth warren
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Coloured Roses

As we stood solemnly
looking down at that deep hole
each of us tears held in our eyes.
We bowed our heads
and a prayer to say
when someone placed a bouquet
of coloured roses on the ground
before they buried you away.
A stranger whom we did not know
smiled and serenely said to us
that these flowers represent their life,
and what they gave to us.

Red roses for the blood
that pumped around
a kind and generous heart.

Yellow roses for the smile
that they gave us
whenever we were around.

Blue roses represent the colour of their eyes
that looked at us softly when they were alive
and for the feelings, we feel within our hearts today.

Orange roses represent the sunset
beyond where they have gone today
and where we hope to meet with them again someday.

White roses for the eternal light
we all must pass though one day
and the purity of spirit they wrap around us each day.

Purple roses for the mourning cloak
each of us wear at times like this.

Theses colours represent the rainbow
wrapped around each life.
Your loved one has not left you
but passed through to the next phase.
The stranger then looked around
smiled serenely again at all of us
then slowly faded away.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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5 Roses

Transparent Rose
In my heart lies a Vase
With 5 roses
5 roses all for you
With five different colors
All to show you what you mean to me
The First Rose
The yellow Rose
The yellow rose is the rose for you from me
To let you know you’re my friend, my best friend
That is a way to show you I’ll be always there for you
The Second Rose
The Blue Rose
The blue rose is to show you
With all my heart what you mean to me
With this rose I show you
There is no battle that I won’t fight for you there is no ocean big enough that can separate my love from you
There is no mountain high enough that I can’t climb for you
With this rose is the beginning of my love to you
The Third Rose
The Red Rose
Within this rose lies all the love I have for you
All the caring
All the loving
I will give to you
This rose show you how you should be treated
I will always romance your heart just to see you smile
Like an Angel
The Fourth Rose
The White Rose
With this rose I show you
All the passion that lies in my heart
All the tenderness I have towards you
All the love that I will show you each time I have and can
With all my strength and love
My heart cries for you
The Fifth Rose
A Rose that has no color
A rose that is undying
A rose that you can see trough and that there is nothing to hide
A rose so pure and true
That all that lies in it is you
So perfectly, so preciously
A girl that is so pure of heart like an angel
This Rose is a Transparent Rose
With this rose I show you all that I am
With this rose I show you I have nothing to hide
Here you can see your reflection that lies in my heart
A love so deeply living in me
I love you with all my heart
And there is no way that these roses will die
Your love is the water to keep them alive

poem by Ricky Baker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Transparent Rose

poem by Carlos Wever
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roses

(melba montgomery, leslie satcher)
A soft summer evening, another time, another place
He brought her red roses on their very first date
She got carried away by the things that he said
Time would erase them but she would never forget
Chorus:
And the roses heard it all
The rose in her hair, the rose in her hand
The roses in the paper on the wall
Theres a story to tell if the roses could talk
Somewhere close to midnight, another time, another place
She lays in the darkness with tears on her face
While he talks in his sleep confessing his love
He calls out a name that shes never heard of
Repeat chorus
She never told him
She never let him see her cry
Only the roses know
What she kept down inside
The years took their toll and the angels took her away
Now theres family and friends at a cold winters grave
He kneels down and whispers. youre the only love that Ive known
As he lays a rose on a cold marble atone
But the roses heard it all
The rose from her garden, the rose in her bible
The roses in the paper on the wall
Theres a story to tell if roses could talk
What a story to tell if roses could talk~

song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To You My Beloved

The gate is ajar
The gate of my heart, fondly and lovely expectant
The gate is ajar

Roses are beautiful
Roses with petals and engraved with love
Roses are beautiful

My mother's milk
A taste so fresh from breasts like yours erect
My mother's milk

Honey is sweet
Done by bees with flowers' nectars
Honey is sweet

To you my beloved
My heart's love petals, sweet is a cool sunny day
To you my beloved.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Every Girl

To every girl that's said, 'Sex CAN wait'
To every girl that's said, 'You're handsome.'
To every girl that was never too busy to drive across town to see him.
To every girl that gives flowers and a card when he is sick.
To every girl who has given him flowers just because.
To every girl that said she would die for him.
To every girl that really would.
To every girl that took time to do what he wanted to do.
To every girl that he cried in front of.
To every girl that holds hands with him.
To every girl that kisses him with meaning.
To every girl that hugs him when he's sad.
To every girl that hugs him for no reason at all.
To every girl who would give their jacket up for him.
To every girl that calls to make sure he got home safe.
To every girl that would sit and wait for him for hours
just to see him for ten minutes.
To every girl that would give her seat up.
To every girl that just wants to cuddle.
To every girl that reassured that he was handsome
no matter what.
To every girl who told her secrets to him.
To every girl that tried to show how much she cared
through every word and every breath.
To every girl that thought maybe this could be the one.
To every girl that believed in his dreams.
To every girl that would have done anything
so he could achieve them.
To every girl that never laughed at him
when she told him her dreams.
To every girl that walked him to his car.
To every girl that gave her heart.
To every girl who prays that he is happy
even if she is not with him.

...This one bulletin is for you...

Not many girls appreciate nice guys anymore...
And because of this, there are not many left out there...

I guarantee 90% of the women on your page will not re post this because they care more about their image

If you are a nice girl re post this with 'We're a Dying Breed '

If you are a guy that thinks every girl should treat a guy this way
re post this with: 'To Every Girl...'

poem by Eliot Perez
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When I Was A Young Girl

(A Song of Old Ballads)

WHEN I was a young girl, all in a green arbor,
When I was a young girl in Springtimes gone by
All the long days I went singing and smiling,
Down by the roses the sweet days beguiling,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!

Oh, the long days I must sit at my sampler,
Oh, the slow way that the still time would go!
I longed to be running across the bright heather,
'Off with the silk gown and on with the leather,
Following the raggle-taggle gypsies, oh!'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!

When I was a young girl in days that were golden,
When I was a young girl, and life had no smart,
All the world seemed a place for my playing,
Full of great lovers to come to me, saying,
'Madam, I give you the keys of my heart . . .'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, and dreaming apart!

When I was a young girl, I dreamed of my lover,
A tall cavalier who should whisper me low,
'Love, on your lips are red roses a-blowing,
I am your true love, and fast is time going
Am I your true love? Oh, say yes or no!'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl–
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!

When I was a young girl there came my true lover,
Swiftly I knew him in glad days gone by;
Never a sword or a lovelock or feather,
But oh, at his touch 'twas our hearts came together,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!

poem by Margaret Widdemer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cat with milk

My cat
Not drink milk...
For today...
Yester day

My cat was
Try drink hot
Of milk...

Hot was hit...
For my cat mouth...
Cat was did not cry...
Run away for hot

Milk pot...
So...
Today coll milk also

My cat did not drink...
O...
I am very soory

For hot milk...
Come to drink milk....

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roses Are Red (Jessica)

Roses are red Violets are blue,
Honey is so sweet and so are you darling!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
You've made my dreams come true!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I have my brown eyes glued on YOU!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I feel like i have known you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
You are so FINE that you give me the BLUES!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
Lord knows that im falling for you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I just want to Rock with you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
These lips can't wait to be kissing you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I do anything to claim you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I bow down to you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I've never met anyone as HOT as you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
never knew i would meet you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I'm going to bed would you like to come too!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I rather spend my precious time with you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
You are beautiful as sparkling DIAMOND!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
You have me speechless everytime i talk to you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
May i have this dance with you (JESSICA)

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I have mentioned your name so many time i have lost count!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I dont want no-one if i cant have you. #PERIOD

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I want to give you everlasting Joy, Happiness, and especially LOVE!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
I'm the one who will make your dreams come true

Roses are red Violets are blue,
Chilli is hot and so are you!

Roses are red Violets are blue,
JESSICA ITA JAMES WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Roses are red Violets are blue,
THIS POEM WAS MADE FOR YOU.......

poem by Obi Onyenwe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Path Of Roses

path of roses

i took the path full of roses
endured the love of roses
to strain my emotion
and torture my innocence
smiled with me in roses
yet to pain me with roses

left alone by the roses
discovered on the roses
climb me an emotion of roses
and lend me a rose of roses
to torture my innocence
and surely strain my emotion
to endure the love of roses
in this path full of roses

i hope we can cross this
out and cut the roses
and trade to the far east
if you want it…
it is a path of so many roses
in variety and kind, of roses
-

contributory poem by: onalethuso petruss ntema
©opn27042012/0947
inspired by: gomotsegang sebadieta's life is a rose and ode to my mother mrs. sebadieta (2012)
-
(r) ntema's unique poetry (nup)
email: [email protected]
[email protected]

poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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So Not Perfect

Just heard a song on the radio
a girl singing about a boy
who is not less than perfect.
Sweet.
Got me think'n bout
how I am
so not perfect.
Course none of us like
to have that truth pointed out.
Better to be wooed
with romantic gestures
and a sweet and caring smile.
Chocolate is good, too.

Some people are crazy early.
Not me.
Yeah, I know- gotta work on that.
For awhile now
it has been on my heart
to always take the time
to smell the roses.
Do you want to know a secret?
When I am alone
and I pass by flowers
on the street
or in the grocery store,
then I stop and smell the roses.
I made a decision that I never want to be
too busy to take time for that.
It is a beautiful joy of life
and one that I try to appreciate.
Too many people zip by life
and miss those little moments
that are the sweetest.

A little over a week ago
I was getting groceries one night.
I detoured to smell the many bouquets of flowers,
and honestly I was dodging that annoying guy
(the one always trying to sell me cable or something
every time I set foot in Wal-Mart) .

A young guy
about 18 or so
struck up a conversation with me
by the roses.
He spilled out his heart
about his break-up with his girl,
his dear love.
He selected the red roses
hoping to win her back.
Hoping she would forgive him.
Hoping he hadn't lost her for good.
The beautiful card
that he selected for her
and his story touched my heart.
Relationships,
like people,
are not perfect
and we all make mistakes.
When we are able to admit it
is when
we get the gold star.

poem by Julie A Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who's the Girl?

Who's the girl in the mirror?
Who's the girl in the frame?
Who's the girl with the smile that has faded off her face?
Who's the girl with the tears slowly rolling off her cheeks?
Who's the girl that cared about you?
Who's the girl that gave up everything?
Who's the girl that can't smile?
Who's the girl that's in denial?
Who's the girl that hit the ground, thinking that you'd catch her now?
Who's the girl that was betrayed?
Who's the girl that's in pain?
Who's the girl in the shadows?
Who's the girl in the shade?
Who's the girl whose light can't shine?
Who's the girl that's been left behind?
Who's the girl in that world that's been left? , There's no doubt.... she's not there.
Who's the girl that was once deep inside your heart?
Who's the girl that has cried and slowly died inside her mind?
Who's the girl you've forgotten?
Who's the girl you have hurt?
Who's the girl that has left?
Who's the girl?
Who is she?
You've forgotten her....

poem by Evelyn Castillo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Roses In Madrid

Roses, Senors, roses!
Love is subtly hid
In the fragrant roses,
Blown in gay Madrid.
Roses, Senors, roses!
Look, look, look, and see
Love hanging in the roses,
Like a golden bee!
Ha! ha! shake the roses--
Hold a palm below;
Shake him from the roses,
Catch the vagrant so!

High I toss the roses
From my brown palm up;
Like the wine that bubbles
From a golden cup.
Catch the roses, Senors,
Light on finger tips;
He who buys red roses,
Dreams of crimson lips!
Tinkle! my fresh roses,
With the rare dews wet;
Clink! my crisp, red roses,
Like a castanet!

Roses, Senors, roses,
Come, Hidalgo, buy!
Proudly wait my roses
For thy rose's eye
Be thy rose as stately
As a pacing deer;
Worthy are my roses
To burn behind her ear.
Ha I ha! I can see thee,
Where the fountains foam,
Twining my red roses
In her golden comb!

Roses, Donnas, roses,
None so fresh as mine,
Pluck'd at rose of morning
By our Lady's shrine.
Those that first I gather'd
Laid I at her feet,
That is why my roses
Still are fresh and sweet.
Roses, Donnas, roses!
Roses waxen fair!
Acolytes my roses,
Censing ladies' pray'r!

Roses, roses, roses!
Hear the tawny bull
Thund'ring in the circus--
Buy your arms full.
Roses by the dozen!
Roses by the score!
Pelt the victor with them--
Bull or Toreador!

poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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