for my mother
Sweet rose, let thy sweet aroma
Set me free. Imbibe my past
And fold it in thy silk petals
I yearn for thee to have me
Lost upon thy dew
Thy intricate countenance doth
Oblige my soul- to seek
A plain word singing true.
Upon thy life I lay
A blacked mark, soon cleansed
By none save for thee,
For seldom doth love beat
Upon my wretched heart. And in
This hour doth bloom thee, O
Sweet rose, let thy and Nature's
Ink indeed be a solace to him
In need of pink of warmth
Or red of love. Let thy breath
Carry me above my done deed
Ne'er to reap the fruit of that seed.
© Copyright 2016 Eskay Miras. All rights reserved.
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