Why do roses suffer the liquid of our being
so much we've grown yet so little sown
pining nature's story of pain.
And the beauty of the thorn seen in water
is made by the sight of its crown in blood.
The color is a match of hook and tackle.
My liquid rose to the lips where free.
What I don't drink falls to waste no place
One taste illuminates my shadow with grace.
rjduberg/1/2010
so much we've grown yet so little sown
pining nature's story of pain.
And the beauty of the thorn seen in water
is made by the sight of its crown in blood.
The color is a match of hook and tackle.
My liquid rose to the lips where free.
What I don't drink falls to waste no place
One taste illuminates my shadow with grace.
rjduberg/1/2010
1 comment:
Easily I assent to but I contemplate the post should have more info then it has.
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