- 113
- Posts
- 22
- Years
- Age 38
- Seen May 27, 2011
Yellow Roses
The summer morning brings dew to the petals
Of the fragile, budding rose;
Whose leaves reach out for the embrace the of the light,
Drying the tears from their faces.
For the yellow bud that blooms with the spring
Remind me of a past friendship;
From the endless summer that was long gone,
Known as an age without hardship.
Shades of red at the tip of the petals
Tell me how this friendship will alter;
But the flower still closed, oh so tightly,
And I fear that I might falter.
Foolish as I was, I plucked my young rose,
Just to keep her love for my own.
My rose, my love, never bloomed, just wilted,
Wilting with beauty never shown.
In the darkness, my rose-less shrub stood there;
Unrequited and unreturned.
Her love for me now lifeless and shriveled,
And left me with a lesson learned.
The summer morning brings dew to the petals
Of the fragile, budding rose;
Whose leaves reach out for the embrace the of the light,
Drying the tears from their faces.
For the yellow bud that blooms with the spring
Remind me of a past friendship;
From the endless summer that was long gone,
Known as an age without hardship.
Shades of red at the tip of the petals
Tell me how this friendship will alter;
But the flower still closed, oh so tightly,
And I fear that I might falter.
Foolish as I was, I plucked my young rose,
Just to keep her love for my own.
My rose, my love, never bloomed, just wilted,
Wilting with beauty never shown.
In the darkness, my rose-less shrub stood there;
Unrequited and unreturned.
Her love for me now lifeless and shriveled,
And left me with a lesson learned.