This garden of certain flowers,
I paced into it and besought
what little this garden covers,
what little I had into thought .
I took a rose yet only to marvel
the blood in the shade of its red,
but, in time, I learned to love well
not its shade but its thorns, instead.
They puncture me, I understand,
and it would really seem at times,
that it parts its red to my hand.
Oh, a rose's playful schemes!
But why prefer another flow`r?
Never doubt a rose's power.
No comments:
Post a Comment