A rosebud bows her head to pray
In silence, colors fade to white
Beneath a somber sky of gray
A withered bloom has lost her might
Her strength now tested to the core
Her fragile spirit proven weak
She has no clue what lie in store
Beneath a shroud, so dull and bleak.
Alas, the rose, once bright and bold
Has turned her petals toward the ground
Raindrops, like tears, so crisp and cold
Adorn the blossom I have found
Her stem, though still in perfect form
Kneels softly, in highest regard
For those who fell amid life’s storm
Now angels, evermore, on guard.
A rosebud bows her head to mourn
In sadness, all alone, she grieves
And yet, one day, she’ll be reborn
Her spirit high, amid the leaves
Time will begin to mend her heart
And, then, in strength, she’ll once more pose
As a radiant work of art
Instead of a lost, weeping rose.
© 2008 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection
Houston's 1560 The Game
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Blessings,
Joyce B.
Newfie Hugs, Rose
Ron
Christine
Your rose should perk up, knowing she is loved in these compassionate lines of watering love - well done.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Georg
Very well penned/illustrated; brava!
(((HUGS))) and much love from Burleson, your fellow Texas friend, Karen Lynn. :D