The cool breeze blows,
Over the bright red of a summer rose.
The rose I picked for you,
When it was still wet with the morning dew.
Here I carry it to where you stay,
But it seems I have gone astray.
Through the woods now I walk,
Remembering how we used to talk.
Things didn’t matter back then,
Neither did who, what, or when.
But the pressure started closing in,
And I could see you turning within.
From bad to worse,
You got so bad there was no reverse.
One day you left me,
You decided you wanted to be free.
So here I place the rose on the mound,
Where you’re buried, six-feet underground.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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i love this poem. at first i thought that it was just about a lost love or something. but when i got to the end i was really surprised. i love it, even though i already said that.
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thank you
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