His Rose ~ By Snowy


This years Love
Did not come into flower like the wild rose bush
This years love
Was not intense as the lilac rush

Louise walked in the long grassed field
Reflection the past years love
And where it come from.

In the initiation a precious bud
Ever so easily broken, longing to bloom
Yet never fetching the tremendous
It was meant to be.

Weather worn
Chilly winds
With no swathe
This years love
Was not designed to be
So she thought, Louise.

Sun bright, unswerving in her eyes
Unable to absolute the figure pending forth
Hand on fore head, sun shaded, she squinted
He neared, statuesque, he smiled
In his hand
One rose in full bloom.

“Like the flower beneath the snow
that waits for the warmth of the sun,
To blossom,
I searched to the depths of my soul
I paid my due
Here is this years love,
My heart,
this rose
I bestow to you.”


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