The Rose
Guest Poems > Walter Stuck
The Rose
I saw a mourning, captive rose
Within a brilliant crystal sphere,
Yearning for the summer breeze
where in repose
Butterflies would gently brush it there.
A sky rejoicing when Sol spun a
filigree of gold
Descending nocturnal spirits fanning
soothing cold.
A dying rose fell onto arid ground,
Now silence where there was once a velvet sound.
© 1997 Walter Stuck