The Rose-Bud
'See, Daphne, see!' Florelio cried,
'And learn the sad effects of pride;
Yon shelter'd rose, how safe conceal'd!
How quickly blasted when reveal'd!
'The sun with warm attractive rays
Tempts it to wanton in the blaze;
A gale succeeds from eastern skies,
And all its blushing radiance dies.
'So you, my Fair! of charms divine,
Will quit the plains, too fond to shine
Where Fame's transporting rays allure,
Though here more happy, more secure.
'The breath of some neglected maid
Shall make you sigh you left the shade;
A breath to beauty's bloom unkind,
As, to the rose, an eastern wind.'
The nymph replied!-'You first, my Swain!
Confine your sonnets to the plain;
One envious tongue alike disarms
You of your wit, me of my charms.
'What is, unknown, the poet's skill?
Or what, unheard, the tuneful thrill?
What, unadmired, a charming mien?
Or what the rose's blush unseen?'
poem by William Shenstone
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Related quotes
Stanzas to the Rose
SWEET PICTURE of Life's chequer'd hour!
Ah, wherefore droop thy blushing head?
Tell me, oh tell me, hap'less flow'r,
Is it because thy charms are fled?
Come, gentle ROSE, and learn from me
A lesson of Philosophy.
Thy scented buds, LIFE'S joys disclose;
They strew our paths with magic sweets;
Where many a thorn like thine, fair ROSE,
Full oft the weary wand'rer meets;
And when he sees thy charms depart,
He feels thy thorn within his heart.
When Morn's bright torch illum'd the sky,
Vainly thy flaunting buds display'd
Enamell'd leaves of crimson die,
Ill-fated blossoms doom'd to fade;
So 'tis with BEAUTY, hapless flow'r,
Its lustre blooms but for an hour.
Come blushing ROSE, and on my breast
Recline thy gentle head, and die;
Thy scatter'd leaves shall there be press'd,
Bath'd with a tear from PITY'S eye;
There shall thy balmy sweets impart
An essence grateful to my heart.
Thus SYMPATHY, with lenient pow'r,
Shall bid thy fading charms bestow
Soft odours for life's happy hour,
Kind, healing balsam for its woe!
If such thy virtues, ROSE DIVINE!
OH ! MAY THY ENVIED FATE BE MINE.
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Apollo's Song
My Daphne's hair is twisted gold,
Bright stars apiece her eyes do hold,
My Daphne's brow enthrones the Graces,
My Daphne's beauty stains all faces,
On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry,
On Daphne's lip a sweeter berry,
Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt,
And then no heavenlier warmth is felt,
My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres,
My Daphne's music charms all ears.
Fond am I thus to sing her praise;
These glories now are turned to bays.
First rose
A heart of youthful year was yearning,
Crying out the pain; the burning
Tears would e’er remain until
An answer from the man would see them die.
A sympathetic mirror blessed her –
Softened up the curves, caressed her
Skin to help regain a calm –
Assuage a heaving breast and blushing eye.
And through a struggling mind, a chiming:
Someone at the door; the timing
Perfect and exquisite in the
Reconciliation of her woes.
She took the oak to make the parting,
‘Here! ’ a presentation startling.
Drawing deep through radiant lips, she
Kissed her very dream: a crimson rose.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Song I
FROM THE FRENCH OF CARDINAL BERNIS.
I.
FRUIT of Aurora's tears, fair rose,
On whose soft leaves fond zephyrs play,
Oh! queen of flowers, thy buds disclose,
And give thy fragrance to the day;
Unveil thy transient charms:--ah, no!
A little be thy bloom delay'd,
Since the same hour that bids thee blow,
Shall see thee droop thy languid head.
II.
But go! and on Themira's breast
Find, happy flower! thy throne and tomb;
While, jealous of a fate so blest,
How shall I envy thee thy doom!
Should some rude hand approach thee there,
Guard the sweet shrine thou wilt adorn;
Ah! punish those who rashly dare,
And for my rivals keep thy thorn.
III.
Love shall himself thy boughs compose,
And bid thy wanton leaves divide;
He'll show thee how, my lovely rose,
To deck her bosom, not to hide:
And thou shalt tell the cruel maid
How frail are youth and beauty's charms,
And teach her, ere her own shall fade,
To give them to her lover's arms.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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Comparison
'Tis by comparison we know
On every object to bestow
Its proper share of praise
Did each alike perfection bear,
What beauty, though divinely fair,
Could admiration raise?
Amidst the lucid bands of night,
See! Hesperus, serenely bright,
Adorns the distant skies:
But languishes amidst the blaze
Of sprightly Sol's meridian rays,-
Or Silvia's brighter eyes.
Whene'er the nightingale complains,
I like the melancholy strains,
And praise the tuneful bird:
But vainly might she strain her throat,
Vainly exalt each swelling note,
Should Silvia's voice be heard.
When, on the violet's purple bed,
Supine I rest my weary head,
The fragrant pillow charms:
Yet soon such languid bliss I'd fly,
Would Silvia but the loss supply,
And take me to her arms.
The alabaster's wondrous white,
The marble's polish strikes my sight,
When Silvia is not seen:
But ah! how faint that white is grown,
How rough appears the polish'd stone,
Compared with Silvia's mien!
The rose, that o'er the Cyprian plains,
With flowers enamell'd, blooming reigns,
With undisputed power,
Placed near her cheek's celestial red
(Its purple lost, its lustre fled),
Delights the sense no more.
poem by William Shenstone
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Songs Set To Music: 28. Nelly.
Whilst others proclaim
This nymph or that swain,
Dearest Nelly the lovely I'll sing:
She shall grace every verse,
I'll her beauties rehearse,
Which lovers can't think an ill thing.
Her eyes shine as bright
As stars in the night;
Her complexion's divinely fair;
Her lips red as a cherry,
Would a hermit make merry,
And black as a coal is her hair.
Her breath, like a rose,
Its sweets does disclose,
Whenever you ravish a kiss
Like ivory inchas'd,
Her teeth are well placed;
And exquisite beauty she is.
Her plump breasts are white,
Delighting the sight,
There Cupid discovers her charms;
Oh! spare then the rest,
And think of the best;
'Tis heaven to die in her arms.
She's blooming as May,
Brisk, lively, and gay,
The Graces all round about her;
She's prudent and witty,
Sings wondrously pretty,
And there is no living without her.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Buy Me a Rose
Buy me a rose, Buy me a rose
Buy me sweet reasons to be forever close
Tender me with words propose
Wear my heart on your sleeves
for i am the rose you chose
Reveal your gentle pose
Make me your fair lady before chairs and doors
Buy me a rose, Buy me a rose
And out for a dozen for me he goes
Past mountain high and wild river flows
I must be i suppose
His romantic quest and cause
Buy me a rose, Buy me a rose
Venture deeper into me
make me eternally yours
Share with me the gift my belly grows
suddenly loving me his world not knows
And in to the distance sails as the new wind blows
Buy me a rose, Buy me a rose
Better yet maybe not
a precious one in me grows
poem by Wes Mbanje
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Song of The Rose
F Zeus chose us a King of the flowers in his mirth,
He would call to the rose, and would royally crown it;
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the grace of the earth,
Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it!
For the rose, ho, the rose! is the eye of the flowers,
Is the blush of the meadows that feel themselves fair,
Is the lightning of beauty that strikes through the bowers
On pale lovers that sit in the glow unaware.
Ho, the rose breathes of love! ho, the rose lifts the cup
To the red lips of Cypris invoked for a guest!
Ho, the rose having curled its sweet leaves for the world
Takes delight in the motion its petals keep up,
As they laugh to the wind as it laughs from the west.
To Sara
One kiss, dear maid! I said and sighed,
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Ah why refuse the blameless bliss?
Can danger lurk within a kiss?
Yon viewless wand'rer of the vale,
The spirit of the western gale,
At morning's break, at evening's close
Inhales the sweetness of the rose
And hovers o'er th' uninjured bloom
Sighing back the soft perfume.
Vigor to the zephyr's wing
Her nectar-breathing kisses fling;
And he the glitter of the dew
Scatters on the rose's hue.
Bashful, lo! she bends her head,
And darts a blush of deeper red!
Too well those lovely lips disclose
The triumphs of the op'ning rose:
O fair! O graceful! bid them prove
As passive to the breath of love.
In tender accents, faint and low,
Well-pleased I hear the whispered 'No!'
The whispered 'No' ---- how little meant!
Sweet falsehood, that endears consent!
For on those lovely lips the while
Dawns the soft relenting smile,
And tempts with feigned dissuasion coy
The gentle violence of joy.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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The Rose Tree
'O WORDS are lightly spoken,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows
Across the bitter sea.'
'It needs to be but watered,'
James Connolly replied,
'To make the green come out again
And spread on every side,
And shake the blossom from the bud
To be the garden's pride.'
'But where can we draw water,'
Said Pearse to Connolly,
'When all the wells are parched away?
O plain as plain can be
There's nothing but our own red blood
Can make a right Rose Tree.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Prairie Rose
(ferry/manzanera)
Texas thats where i
Belong
It seems to me
Texas lonesome star
Shine on
The big country
Texas with open skies
And you
For company
Texas oh prairie rose
How happy
I should be
Hey hey you can take it from me
Hey hey ill be coming, youll see
Hey hey oh what a state to be in
Hey hey youre tantalising me
Texas I will compose
In fancy rhyme
Or just plain prose
Texas a song of praise
To you
Prairie rose
Texas though im not sure
I can explain
Your strange allure
Texas prairie rose -
A crown of thorns
A scented flower
Hey hey id better leave right away
Hey hey I can hear you calling me
Prairie rose
song performed by by Roxy Music
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Growth of a Rose
A rose has been planted in it's place
Waiting to begin it's life as a beautiful flower
A shower of rain falls on the rose
Awakening the rose from it's long slumber
Beneath the ground where this flower is planted
It's roots have started to grow out from the rain
Soon the rain has stopped and the sun shines
The warmth of the sun's rays help the rose grow
Seeing the bright rays shine from it's source
The rose begins to reach out to the sky
Finally escaping the cold dark place the flower was in
It has at last faced the bright world for the first time
Revealing it's beauty and experiencing the feeling of pure happiness
poem by Sarah Bruun
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To a Lady, with Some Coloured Patterns of Flowers
Madam,-
Though rude the draughts, though artless seem the lines,
From one unskill'd in verse, or in designs;
Oft has good-nature been the fool's defence,
And honest meaning gilded want of sense.
Fear not, though flowers and beauty grace my lay,
To praise one fair, another shall decay.
No lily, bright with painted foliage, here,
Shall only languish, when Selinda's near:
A fate reversed no smiling rose shall know,
Nor with reflected lustre doubly glow.
Praises which languish when applied to you,
Where flattering schemes seem obviously true.
Yet sure your sex is near to flowers allied,
Alike in softness, and alike in pride:
Foes to retreat, and ever fond to shine,
Both rush to danger, and the shades decline;
Exposed, the short-lived pageants of a day,
To painted flies or glittering fops a prey:
Changed with each wind, nor one short day the same,
Each clouded sky affects their tender frame.
In glaring Chloe's man-like taste and mien,
Are the gross splendours of the tulip seen:
Distant they strike, inelegantly gay,
To the near view no pleasing charms display.
To form the nymph, a vulgar wit must join,
As coarser soils will most the flower refine.
Ophelia's beauties let the jasmine paint,
Too faintly soft, too nicely elegant.
Around with seeming sanctity endued,
The passion-flower may best express the prude.
Like the gay rose, too rigid Silvia shines,
While, like its guardian thorn, her virtue joins.
Happy the nymph from all their failures free!
Happy the nymph in whom their charms agree!
Faint these productions, till you bid disclose,
The pink new splendours, and fresh tints the rose:
And yet condemn not trivial draughts like these,
Form'd to improve, and make even trifles please.
A power like yours minuter beauties warms,
And yet can blast the most aspiring charms:
Thus, at the rays whence other objects shine,
The taper sickens, and its flames decline.
When by your art the purple violet lives,
And the pale lily sprightlier charms receives;
Garters to me shall glow inferior far,
And with less pleasing lustre shine the star.
Let serious triflers, fond of wealth or fame,
On toils like these bestow too soft a name;
Each gentler art with wise indifference view,
And scorn one trifle, millions to pursue:
More artful I their specious schemes deride
Fond to please you, by you in these employed;
A nobler task, or more sublime desire,
Ambition ne'er could form, nor pride inspire.
The sweets of tranquil life and rural ease
Amuse securely, nor less justly please.
Where gentle pleasure shows her milder power,
Or blooms in fruit, or sparkles in the flower;
Smiles in the groves, the raptured poet's theme;
Flows in the brook, his Naiad of the stream;
Dawns, with each happier stroke the pencil gives,
And, in each livelier image, smiling lives;
Is heard, when Silvia strikes the warbling strings,
Selinda speaks, or Philomela sings:
Breathes with the morn; attends, propitious maid,
The evening ramble, and the noon-day glade
Some visionary fair she cheats our view,
Then only vigorous when she seems like you.
Yet Nature some for sprightlier joys design'd,
For brighter scenes, with nicer care, refined.
When the gay jewel radiant streams supplies,
And vivid brilliants meet your brighter eyes;
When dress and pomp around the fancy play,
By fortune's dazzling beauties borne away;
When theatres for you the scenes forego,
And the box bows obsequiously low:
How dull the plan which indolence has drawn,
The mossy grotto, or the flowery lawn!
Though roseate scents in every wind exhale,
And sylvan warblers charm in every pale.
Of these be hers the choice whom all approve;
And whom but those who envy, all must love:
By nature modell'd, by experience taught,
To know and pity every female fault:
Pleased even to hear her sex's virtues shown,
And blind to none's perfections but her own:
Whilst, humble fair! of these too few she knows,
Yet owns too many for the world's repose;
From wit's wild petulance serenely free,
Yet blest in all that nature can decree.
Not like a fire, which, whilst it burns, alarms;
A modest flame, that gently shines and warms:
Whose mind, in every light, can charms display,
With wisdom serious, and with humour gay;
Just as her eyes in each bright posture warm,
And fiercely strike, or languishingly charm:
Such are your honours-mention'd to your cost,
Those least can hear them, who deserve them most:
Yet ah! forgive-the less inventive muse,
If e'er she sing, a copious theme must choose.
poem by William Shenstone
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Gazals 5
1.
When breath is over
you return to your origin
at will or without will.
But breath does not bother
who is retuning
and who is not.
2.
Wind is hawker of
fragrance of rose
When there is no wind
what happens to rose.
3.
Death is my company
since my birth
We walk together
We play together
Oneday
we shall die together.
poem by Devil Poet
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The Speeches of Sloth and Virtue
[Upon the Plan of Xenophen's Judgment of Hercules]
SLOTH
Hither, dear Boy, direct thy wandring Eyes,
'Tis here the lovely Vale of Pleasure lies.
Debate no more -- to me thy self resign;
Her mossy Caves, her Groves, and all are mine.
For me the Goddess opes her various Pow'r,
Springs in a Tree, or blossoms in a Flow'r:
To please my Ear she breaths celestial Strains:
To please my Eye, with Lillies strews the Plains:
To form my Couch in mossy Beds she grows:
To gratify my Smell she blooms a Rose.
Oft' in some Nymph the Deity I find,
Where in one Form the various Sweets are join'd.
Yield but to me, -- a Choir of Nymphs shall rise,
And with the blooming Sight regale thy Eyes:
Their beauteous Cheeks a fairer Rose shall wear,
A brighter Lilly in their Necks appear:
Thou on their Breasts thy wearied Head recline,
Nor at the Swan's less pleasing Nest repine:
Whilst Philomel in each soft Voice complains,
And gently lulls thee with her dying Strains:
Whilst spicy Gums round each fair Bosom glow;
And in each Accent myrrhy Odours flow.
For thee with softest Art the Dome shall rise,
And spiring Turrets glitter thro' the Skies.
For thee the Robe shall glow with purple Rays;
The Side-board sparkle, and gilt Chariot blaze.
In brilliant Mines, be other Hands employ'd,
So the gay Product be by thine enjoy'd.
For thee the Poplar shall her Amber drain:
For thee in clouded Beauty spring the Cane.
To please thy Taste shall Gallia prune the Vine:
To swell thy Treasures India sink the Mine.
For thee each Nations nicer Stores shall grow,
And ev'ry Wind some lovely Tribute blow.
Learning shall ne'er molest thy tranquil Reign,
Nor Science puzzle thy inactive Brain:
Sometimes perhaps thy Fancy take her Wing
To grace a Fan, or celebrate a Ring:
Fix various Dyes to suit each varying Mien:
Prescribe where Patches shou'd in Crouds be seen:
Or sigh soft Strains along the vocal Grove,
And tell the Charms, the sweet Effects of Love!
Or if more specious Ease thy Care shou'd claim,
And thy Breast glow with faint Desire of Fame,
Some trivial Science shall thy Thoughts amuse;
And Learning's Name a solemn Sound diffuse.
To Thee all Nature's shelly Store I'll bring,
To thee the Sparklings on the Insect's Wing.
Pleasure in infant Forms shalt thou descry;
View, in an Ant, or hear her in a Fly;
When near thy Path, as oft as Spring appears,
The sportive Goddess buzzes round thy Ears:
Now in some Pebble's curious Vein is seen,
Or on some Leaf bestows unusual Green.
Then Sleep shall wrap thee in her downy Arms,
And round thy weary'd Head diffuse her Charms;
Lest growing Pride thy peaceful Schemes o'erthrow,
And Thought succeed, -- my most destructive Foe.
The watry Nymphs shall tune the tinkling Vales,
And gentle Zephyrs harmonize their Gales:
For thy repose instruct, with Rival Joy,
Their Streams to murmur, and their Winds to sigh.
Thus shalt thou spend the sweetly-flowing Day,
Till lost in Bliss thou breath thy Soul away:
How easy a Transition should'st thou find,
Were to thy Fate Annihilation join'd!
VIRTUE.
Fly, fly, fond Youth, the too indulgent Maid,
Nor err, by such fantastick Scenes betray'd.
Tho' in my Path the prickly Thorn be seen,
And the waste Turf produce a fainter Green;
Tho' no gay Rose, or purple Product shine,
The rugged Surface still conceals the Mine;
And each unsightly Object can supply
More lasting Pleasure, more substantial Joy.
But shou'd those airy glittr'ing Toys allure,
Yet whence cou'd Sloth the mighty Boon procure?
Or whence receive, or how those Gifts bestow,
Which I alone possess -- her greatest Foe?
I from old Ocean rob the treasur'd Store,
And hidden Gems thro' ev'ry Realm explore:
'Twas I the rugged Brilliant first reveal'd,
By tenfold Strata in the Earth conceal'd:
'Tis I the shapeless Surface still refine,
And teach the rugged Brilliant how to shine.
Where blooms the Rose, where spires the shapely Tree,
Where smiles the Grape, without fair Industry?
But grant we Sloth the Scene herself has drawn,
The mossy Grotto, and the flow'ry Lawn:
Let Frankincense with ev'ry Wind exhale,
And Philomela breath in ev'ry Gale:
Let Brilliants sparkle, (dear Machines of Pride!)
And from the Poplar flow the Amber Tide:
Let gay Pomona, quitting all around,
For choicest Fruits select the hallow'd Ground;
To tread the favour'd Soil shou'd Virtue cease,
Nor mossy Grotts, nor flow'ry Lawns cou'd please:
Nor ought Pomona's luscious Gifts avail:
The Sound harmonious; or the spicy Gale.
See'st thou those Rocks in dreadful Pomp arise,
And barren Cliffs that sweep the vaulted Skies?
Those Fields whence Phoebus all their Moisture drains,
And, too profusely kind, disrobes the Plains?
When I vouchsafe to tread the lonely Soil,
Those Rocks seem lovely, and those Desarts smile;
Oft' on those pathless Wilds as I appear,
(With Converse sweet his lonely Steps to chear)
Those Cliffs the Exile has with Pleasure view'd,
And call'd that Desart, ``Blissful Solitude!
Known by its airy Height and tow'ring Spires,
Behind that Scene Fame's lofty Dome retires.
Steep the Ascent by which to Fame we rise,
Yet equal to the Labour is the Prize:
From thence you gain an earthly Crown;
From thence -- you reach the Skies.
Far, far below the downy Throne is seen
That lulls to Rest Ignavia's softer Queen:
Thence to Fame's Turrets oft' She lifts her Eyes,
Desirous still, still impotent to rise.
Oft', when resolv'd to gain those shining Tow'rs,
The pensive Queen the dire Ascent explores;
Comes onward, wafted by the gummy Trees,
Some Sylvan Musick, or some scented Breeze;
She turns her Head; her own gay Realm she spies,
And all the airy Resolution dies.
Thus still in vain these gilded Visions please
The Wretch of Glory, whilst the Slave of Ease;
Doom'd ever in ignoble State to pine,
Boast her own Scenes, and languish after mine.
poem by William Shenstone
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Pondering upon the Rose on a Sunday Morning......
The symbol of love
When giving in love a rose speaks for itself
The beauty is picturesque
The scent it gives lasting for ever
The rose never seen without her thorns
Still who can not feel happiness when a rose is seen or given?
Even for a brief minute, a second the rose brings a smile
Or perhaps a small sigh of delight
If one were to think upon a rose…
The thorns… the beauty…
The petals that carry the essence…
That lingers even after it is withered
If one were compare to our Lord…
He held thorns upon his precious head; the head of the rose is above the thorns
His love was known for its beauty and compassion, the rose noted for love
His words and Spirit lingers for eternity much like the scent of the rose
My Lord created the Rose
Perhaps he created it for remembrance of His son
Looking upon the rose I see it all so clearly
The meaning of love
The beauty
An essence that shall always be with me
poem by Patricia Gale
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Red, Red Rose
Red, red rose, she blew her breath
Fingers, it’s stem she caressed
Then she closed her eyes and breathed the fragrance in
Tell me red, red rose, where does love end
She placed the rose, gently against her lips
She plucked a single petal, with finger tips
And as the wind caught and carried up high
Tell me red, red rose, can love it fly
Slowly one by one, each petal fell
Upon the last in her eye, a tear it swelled
And then she sighed as she asked to her self
Tell me red, red rose, is for love, is this what’s left
Red, red rose, red, red rose
You stand for love you should know
Should we hold on tight with all our might
Must one day we let go
Red, red rose, red, red rose
Your petals fly in the breeze
If I let go, red, red rose
What becomes of me.
Copyright 2006 Bill Simmons
aka BillWilliamStar
[email protected]
poem by Bill Simmons
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A Rose Intoxication!
Queen of flowers rose is always a fascination!
Rose is symbol of passionate love cheers mood!
Rose lady gives great pride to be with anywhere!
Special respect to rose never changes anywhere;
Red rose, pink rose and even blue rose are there
Occupying a pride of place none can have ever!
Bouquet of rose flowers elates anyone to dizziness!
A special gift indeed rose flowers makes to all!
A single rose is enough to make one grand to look
Instead of a big cluster of flowers of jasmine or lily!
Scent of rose remains fresh in mind wherever one is;
Such a unique flower rose how can anyone ignore
Whether it is in the garden or lies on a wayward side!
Now after seeing rose and read on rose I am intoxicated..!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Milk White, Blood-Red
Gently as wind blows
Sways the beauty of the Milk White rose
Day and night that rose stays
Its beauty drawing people closer
Its thorns keeping them away
The rose stays here
As seasons pass it by
The petals have worn
As the wind made it fly
A single rose seed
Falls onto the ground
And the Milk White rose
Now dead
Gave birth safe and sound
To a rose of Blood Red
poem by Monina Furigay
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400 ~ Bloom
Just begins to bud,
a rose,
holding hopes and fears
behind
black-red, velvet-soft petals.
Startled by a bright, new world,
it opens,
revealing petals of humility.
Blushing, growing,
opening as it becomes
accustomed
to beauty in light.
Proud color spreads wide across,
full bloom,
not as dark as at first,
glowing
from light that has filled it.
This rose can never die.
As love,
It can lose color, wilt, fade,
but in the mind,
the rose
will forever be in bright, full bloom.
This rose stands a symbol,
to time.
What has occurred to arrive at
now?
All the bloomings have led to one bright bloom,
this rose.
As someone has made me bloom,
she is
beauty and
light. Changing
my colors, releasing
my fears,
I owe her much, love
will never die, like
the glowing bloom of this,
a rose.
poem by Stan Pelfrey
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