Poetry

Some deep red roses bloomed in the rain,
the rain sieved down for days without end,
an end to winter brought the spring again;

while again roses at a time would be send,
be send as messengers of a love that’s true,
that’s true in all things that had happened.

I held red roses wrapped in a big bunch,
a big bunch to make up for being apart;
after days apart we did meet for lunch,

after lunch a sweet kiss would test her heart,
her heart would respond with some kind of bliss,
or bliss would be absent in our own art.

Nothing could love remove, her eyes did shine
as I saw her face, hurried to embrace;
the depths of love did prove that she was mine.