If, indeed, I prove to be thy very thorn,
than thou, to me, shall ever prove my Rose-
though thou name me now thy bitterest scorn,
a herald to thy grief, bringer of woes.
If, indeed, thou provest still my flower
and I, a thorn, a certain part to thee,
then shall I weep such tears that thou would shower
to nourish thy bud most naturally.
My Rose shall ever bear her thorny side
from reddened petal to the very end.
But my thorn alone, whatever betide,
shall stay beside-her very core to tend.
But though I stay a thorn to thee e'en now
I ne'er can love thee more than thee allow.
Author notes
Nick Haasch
A contest entry
- Metaphor. by The-Phoenix.
450 points, ended March 16, 2008, 26 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I'm always a sucker for poems like this- romantic and about roses!
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