Friday, October 19, 2012

A Rose By Eleanor Pederson Hilleman




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 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."

10 comments:

Christopher Kerry Scott Sophie Johnson said...

Happy Friday.

Unknown said...

romantic and fun poem.

Anonymous said...

what a divine piece.

Bing Yap said...

lovely!

Anonymous said...

reads like a greting card. nice choice of words. my rally.. http://fiveloaf.wordpress.com/2012/10/15/waters-of-spring/

Maxwell Mead Williams Robinson Barry said...

sweet.

Unknown said...

romantic style, well put.

Anonymous said...

perfect.

Anonymous said...

romantic and sad.

well put.

Unknown said...

sweet.