Posted in Stories, Writing

The Eglantine Rose’s Lament

Author’s note: A poem I wrote in a series entitled The Language of Flowers.

 

I died a hundred times for you

But my love, he never knew

And so I’ll die just once more

To see if life’s worth living for.

 

Pretty presents that you gave,

All the memories I cannot save.

Your posy sits here still with me,

Acacia flowers and primroses wilting viciously.

 

Like a tree, our love would grow

But I guess you wished it so.

Left me to the rocks and sheep

Now a willow, I do weep.

 

Soon he’ll turn from ashes to dust,

Forgive me dear, I could not help but lust.

I’ll follow him in either way

Unless you start and wish of me to stay.

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