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

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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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