The Rose ......
A single rose upon the ground? So fresh it looks, who laid it there? Why a rose beside the path? In driving snow I stand and stare. Now the wind blows bitter chill ….. The rooks I hear above the trees; A single rose lying there? Their cries instil a great unease. So cold I am - and worried too, Back I stumble through the sludge; But why a rose? - it haunts my mind, As down the icy lane I trudge. A gas lamp dimly lights my way, Past the church, through the snow; In the tavern so warm and snug, In hand a pint of Castle brew. The rose no longer troubles me, So back towards my home I stroll; The freezing wind still numbs my face; It cuts right through to heart and soul. I hear again the rooks above, Round and round they scream and screech; They fill my mind with fear and dread, “Return! Return!” they now beseech. So back along the lane I tramp, And up the hill, my steps retrace; What about the rose so fresh, That all my lucid thoughts displace? And there, I see, kneeling down, Beside the rose, a boy so young; Up he looks and smiles at me, But in his smile a verse unsung…. So surprised I look away, Then back I glance – no longer there; Who was this boy beside the rose? A boy I’ve seen before, I swear. He’s left a note beside the rose, I pick the paper up to read; In my hand , and writing so neat, What is this, that’s so decreed? “’Tis John le M…. resting here, “His life so blest and loving too, Three-score and eight was he……” My age and name -‘tis true! The rose now lies shrivelled and dead…… “Three-score and eight in age, no more; And on this spot his life he shed, In Jan’ry 1894.” ‘In my hand’ refers to hand-writing – as the subject of the poem recognises the writing in the note.
Rhyming
Philosophical
3
0
BPF
Love creativity - especially writing - poems especially. Love my wife, cats, our church, reading, warm weather (so rare here!) and snow - quite common these days - even in spring....
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