The Burden of a Rose
Small samples strewn everywhere
bending down to see
Is that truly me?
Red Yellow Pink and White
colours fill my senses bright
stretching high to touch the light
sprinkled with the dew of night.
Thorns are the pain I bear
A thing of beauty beyond compare
a scent so sweet they say
it fills the senses while I wilt away
that is the burden I have to bear
for I will wither and die one day.
Past present Spring or Fall
Death birth love and all
they carry me wherever they go
not knowing the score
which is much heavier
than they will ever know.
Written for Chantelle Anne Cooke
The Flower The Thorn or Both.
Dated 04.08.2020
Copyright © Carol Mitra | Year Posted 2020
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