This rose bloomed for you;
unfolding petals exposed
its delicate core.
All roses have thorns
and this one pricked your finger,
but with no intent.
Now, long left alone
in harsh sun and arid winds
it has become sere.
Miserly, you give
a drop to this parched flower;
too little, too late.
The bloom has wilted,
the slender stem bending down
to drop its burden.
Author notes
Written May 10th, 2005
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Very thougtful poem
I liked this poem very much. You choose your words well and they express emotion very well, and at the same time they create strong images. The only thing you might consider changing is- too little, too late. I say this because it is a cliché. Otherwise, I think the poem is splendid.
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Excellent!
Once again, you have written something great. I can't go on enough about your poetry. I was hoping you would check out a couple of mine, namely "my friend" and a new one called, "fun in the night." Please? Please? (See? I'm begging!
)
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Hmmm. Good point. I changed "pricked a finger" to "pricked your finger" and the first line in the fourth stanza to "Miserly, you give"
Is that better? Or give could be "gave" I suppose. Anyway, I will think on it some more and thank you for your comments!
Lilac Moon, the rose in this case.
Edited on May 11, 9:44 because ''. -
I'm left with a feeling of concern and confusion about where you are going with this - I don't know who is the rose and who the miser - but the piece is really beautiful and very powerful.....thank you for sharing :-)
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