The Rose's Story

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story of the creation of a symbol of love. The rose.

Submitted: January 02, 2012

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Submitted: January 02, 2012

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The Story of the Rose

A man did come upon a town

His eyes inquisitive, his hair deep brown.

He sidled sleepily in a house to stay

And spent his time in the pub all day.

At this pub he came upon something sweet,

A rose sat there, tidy, soft, and neat.

When he brought his hand to touch the vase

The barkeep came and slapped his groping paws.

“Boy!” He said in angry voice, “A rose like this, it aint so cheap!”

The man considered the elder with thoughts quite deep

And said, “How much is a rose so fine?”

The other, “A life of a man and beauty divine.”

“How so?” Said man to other in thought,

For to this story, he was bought,

The elder began without a pause

And would not stop without a cause.

“On yonder hill a ravishing maiden did stay,

Tending to beautiful blooms and blossoms all day.

All the men did see her there,

With ivory skin and long, crimson hair.

A beauty in all her own right,

With flowers to match in beauty and might.

Then there came upon the town

A fearsome knight with glaring frown.

But when he saw the maiden fair,

He could not show his mighty glare.

For in her sight he softened with warmth and love,

For he, the wolf, and she, the dove.

And he caught her eyes, for his heart was strung,

And there they fell in love quite young.

However all the good must end

And to the maiden, the angel of death did bend

His lips to kiss upon her heart so weak.

And the knight let loose many tear upon his cheek.

On yonder hill, the girl did lay.

With knight by her side, she did say,

‘I love thee with heart so strong and bold.’

Only lightly now did her fingers hold.

‘And I love thee,’ said knight to young maid,

‘And at your sight my strength does fade.’

She smiled now and her breath did catch,

‘Stay with me in flowering patch.’

Then her chest gave heave and rose.

Her face then softened in death’s repose.

He hugged his love to him, that knight.

All who saw wept at his sight.

He did stay with maiden fair.

On yonder hill, he still sits there.

For as he died with her so close

He became the thorn and her, the rose.”

The man then looked to yonder hill

And on it’s side the roses did fill.

The Knight and the Maiden divine,

In one flower of beautiful love’s design.

 


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