Love is the rose,
Unsullied crimson beauty,
Longing to be touched...
Velvet petals exude...
Sweet pheromones,
Searching for a mate on a
Tempestuous breeze,
He cannot resist…
“Come to me”, she beckons…
He finds his love… magnificent,
They dance….
Springtime, romance anew,
Summer, full blossom,
Fall, her beauty slowly fading,
Growing frail...
Crimson to brown,
Winter, dry, she wilts away...
Goodbye my love.
In the springtime...
She is searching.
Wow, I love the manner in which you weave this together, and the end is great. You are well recieved I believe and loved as a poetess. Stay strong and stay creative.
ReplyDeleteThanks John,
ReplyDeleteI think if we let our feelings flow naturally, they are much easier to convey to one another, in words.