Crown of roses, sacrosanct, aroma
Hides inside your beauty, along with thorns.
Rose crown of divinity’s worth, your bra
And girdle constrain truth, forever mourned.

Crown so beautiful, crown of light, often
Crowns crack under strain, regardless poetic.
Thorn of crowns, you bewitch. Already been
Through the marred heart of such measuring sticks…

Crown of poesies, crown of fright, bask quickly
In April’s light. Soon, you will fade, mother,
Swiftly, from love of All, before the pleas
Of threes escape out of the door of bother.

Crowned by roses, pricked by scorn, however
Becomes foliage-death - - isn’t that clever?

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 4/21/06