The Golden Rose blooms from the field,
Lavishing in the morning sun,
Bounty of the earth is her yield,
The battle for growth has been won.
Her beauty is beyond compare,
Petals glimmering from the light,
Seems that nothing can bring despair,
Until the sun wanes into night.
Dusk came; signing the deathly decrees,
Moonlight beams bring the frigid breeze,
She folds in and fell to her knees,
Hoping- to evade frozen disease.
Her young lungs are flattened– strength slowly sapped–
Dull posture is wilting– petals now gray–
Body is frostbitten– mind is entrapped–
Path is overwritten– limbs can't obey–
The Golden Rose died on the field,
Withering from the morning sun,
The young life cut short; journey sealed,
The final battle was not won.
YOU ARE READING
Book of Dreams
PoetryThis is going to be a poem collection: some happy, some sad, and other to make you wonder. Each one has been rooted in some kind of dream I had or just a thought bubble I've been stuck on. Please give feedback, it would be the best way for me to imp...
