Mistook passion for love grabbed the rose without a glove
Held it with a bleeding hand, its beauty did me command
She did not ask to be picked and meant no harm to inflict
A flower I did not deserve, wilting charm my desire to serve
Took her from where she was grown, gave her a new glass home
Did her best to look pretty, a cut flower, such a pity
No strength in a watery vase, drooping sadness on flower's face
For those that love a rose leave her to thrive where she grows
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: August 29th, 2025 03:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
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Comments1
I hate seeing these mutilated flowers dying in the stagnant water of a vase !
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