The Wilted Rose story poem for M'lady Emma

Story poem

The Wilted Rose.

 

A wilted rose recalls to me.

A sad but cherished memory

Of one I loved.

Who loved not me.

 

I found it accidentally

in keepsakes which were left to me.

By one I loved

Who loved not me.

 

I wonder why she kept the rose

She had her reasons I suppose.

The one I loved.

Who loved not me.

 

Perhaps that’s why I never wed.

She wed another in my stead.

The one I loved.

Who loved not me.

 

I think perhaps she obeyed

A bargain that her father made.

The one I loved.

Who loved not me.

 

I am convinced that secretly

She loved me in reality.

The one I loved.

Loved me truly.

 

 

And that she wed unwillingly

The man she wed instead of me.

Did her duty

Reluctantly..

 

That’s why she left the rose to me.

I keep it with me constantly.

The only way

 that she could say.

 

What she could not say openly.

The withered rose is telling me.

The one loved

Also loved me.

 

My life is drawing to its close

I shall be buried with the rose.

Laid on my breast.

My last request.

 

To those who come to bury me.

The withered rose will always be.

A mystery

To all but me.

 

Monday, 14 November 2011

http:// blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.

Reviews

[Tate Morgan]

A gentle reminder to me that there are fewer days ahead than behind .I intend to make right by them