The Rose - The Poetry Shelter

" Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my Desire " John Keats
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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
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