This is an exercise for me....I do not naturally write in rhyme and meter ... this is only my third poem of that sort...it is difficult for me....and quite frankly I am trying to get over my resistance toward doing so.....this is not any particular form that I am aware of....

Winter’s Rose

When heaven exhales its first icy kiss,
Upon the old sod where beneath he rests,
An ashen hand leaves a winter's rose
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss.

Upon his cold bed in mournful repose
At dawn the blade pierces her sallow breast,
When heaven exhales its first icy kiss
Upon the old sod where beneath he rests.

Upon his cold bed in mournful repose,
One final dream wooed with a lover's bliss,
To wake with the ghost of summer’s caress
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose.

A rose to her heart that heaven might bless,
Palm to smooth ivory, a tightened fist.
Upon his cold bed in mournful repose,
At dawn the blade pierces her sallow breast.

A rose to her heart that heaven might bless.
That, and the dream of a soldiers's last kiss.
Sorrow born bitter from naught she had chose,
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless.

Sorrow born bitter from naught she had chose,
Sounding a cry o'er the twilight myst,
A rose to her heart that heaven might bless,
Palm to smooth ivory, a tightened fist.



jeanne rene 8/04