Today I came home
to roses; the sort,
that mended everything,
stood glittering
from the table top, as
sunlight
on first days
of spring. They were
red,
red,
every one,
whispering their promises
with silvered
tongues, changing
and bending a delicate
one,
who felt as green
as their leaves.
With blooms soft and
tender
as lovers speak, somehow I find,
your roses
leave me weaker than a morning
sky… “Red,
red for love,” you
tell me,
-
and I
forgive –
“and green, like the
colour
of your eyes.”
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