Friday, October 19, 2012

A Rose By Eleanor Pederson Hilleman

 I looked at a rose called midnight
and asked that it might stay
lovely with soft-shaded velvet,
But it whispered: "There comes a day
when the sun beats down in its fury
and the mighty winds do blow,
And then comes the time and the season
when I, like the rest, must go;
But I leave with you my fragrance-
A memory, pure and sweet-
And you can be sure I am with you
As my petals lie at your feet."


Sheng Henry Wood said...

Happy Friday.

Timonthy Jacobshen Wood said...

romantic and fun poem.

Aya Gugles Wilson said...

what a divine piece.

Bing Yap said...


Anonymous said...

reads like a greting card. nice choice of words. my rally..

Taylor Kong Boomer said...


Stephany ChuBB Hudson said...

romantic style, well put.

Yielday Pittzheng said...


George Lincoln said...


Nancy Perazil Federle said...

romantic and sad.

well put.

Sarah Glenwool Bush said...