A rose from Calverille

Written by: George Zamalea

Take the last roses
From the unborn spring
Warm them between 
Your virginal breasts
Until I will return

Holding them against 
Your heart you should
Remember me as a bastard thief

Like an eagle flies in shame
Above the dried hunting
Ground I go

I will return
For you, sweet Calverille
One day
I promise you
One day
In the dying autumn
I should come for you
Even if I am dead.