Red Roses

The red roses you sent
are withered and bent
and yet still their scent
is alive

and I hear a lullaby
drift softly on the winds
within this night as love ascends

yet with the love a truth
forgotten since those days of youth
when truth was what was felt
and the anger at the fore would melt

the fear away
when we knew that love was here to stay
instinctual, the chosen way

within the bloom of every rose
beyond the days of summer's pose
through the best and through the worst
and through what lies between

while within the center lives the everything
for what lies twixt the high and low
is heart

and while the rose may be
a symbol of eternity
it dies too soon

just ask the moon
and me…


Copyright© 1999 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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