The Rose
He spoke... as she turned him away
“Let this a rosy day be”...
The intent, known not, was to warn
for to him, not a rose had been she
To pluck a rose midst the bush
plays possibly a thorny prick
reasoning not for the fragrance,
only relishing pain’s piquant nick
Advancement bold, brings retreat
Egos succumb to depose
No cad, but a ‘gentleman’s’ hand
Could offer a redolent rose
Copyright © Shirley Sibley | Year Posted 2008
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