The Rose
I saw a mourning,captive rose
Within a brilliant crystal sphere,
Yearning for the summer breeze where in repose
Butterflies would gently brush it there.
A sky rejoicing when Sol spun a filigree of gold
Descending nocturnal spirits fanning soothing
cold.
A dying rose fell onto arid ground,
Now silence,where there was once a velvet
sound.
Walter Stuck
Reason for writing:
sudden inspiration
Birth sign: Not entered
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