Death: My Bed of Roses
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When I was a young girl death took my hand,
and over the years has become my friend:
the cemetery more like a woodland,
with sorrow I go beyond and transcend;
of death many words I have penned.
I recall those rooms full of scented rose,
tears falling that are now shadows in time:
my life was ravaged- my heart and soul froze,
but, now this place of tears is where birds chime;
like a sweet symphony sublime.
And in my last gasp- death will hold my hand;
leading me towards that heavenly land.
______________________
March 20, 2023
Poetry/Rhyme/Death: My Bed Of Roses
Copyright Protected, ID 03-1532-879-20
All Rights Reserved, 2023, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, A Simple Poetry Contest
sponsor, John Lawless, Judged 03/30/2023
Eighth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2023
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