The Rose
Her body is tall and slender and her veins surround her soul.
The shadows of light change about her as the
day fades into tomorrow.
Torn from her grounded past, she is now severed from thy
growth which nurtured that soft petaled form of hers.
Sown with her roots, will she grow and flower now she lay
naked like beauty unseen.
The clouds of time gather around and rain down on her
spoiled pastel coloured shape.
Gripping hold of the last remaining lantern of light
she bows her head and dies.
Copyright © Helen Blakemore | Year Posted 2008
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