A Warning for Roses
Look at my garden,
Primed and ready for the Sun,
He smiles on them daily,
Picks 'em one by one,
But the Moon is high tonight and throws
winks at my little, white rose.
Will he be up early?
All brilliant and bold,
Smiling for her especially,
Far away from the fold,
A blue-sky bed for her dizzy, daisy head,
She doesn’t yet know; she’s just bought and sold.
A flower leans wilfully
Next to a door,
She’s rotten and wilted,
Ashamed to her core,
A rustle of green, still thinks she’s a queen?
And one more white petal falls.
Look at my garden,
Sun-kissed and broken-stemmed,
A sea full of petals
Wake up sweet, sleeping friend,
Don’t yet know how, one last long bow,
For who will pick my white roses now?
Liked or faved by...
