Once uopn a time, a lonely loving rose
bending with the wind, gentle in each pose
The meadow was green, and the sun aglow
Not a sign or gesture of pain and sorrow
Parakeets would sing and the rose flushed
Till the weary winter brushed past with a rush
And she stole anthems from love birds
A sigh was the last sound the meadow heard
young rose with all its roseness fresh and red
cut with its roots haunted as a captive held
To her doomsday she hauled, past a willow tree
Past that feigned majesty she was ordered to be
What about the blood ****** off her petals
Our mushy rose beaten like heavy metals
Soon she whispered to the cold ears of winter
What of it now, and passed with one last whimper.