Roses Are Red

A winter world of gray,

outside my window.

Cold, barren, naked trees

shiver in the winter's breeze.

The back garden of yesterday,

outside the backdoor, off the porch.

Desolate, empty forgotten,

summer days that once have been.

A single rosebush still remains,

lingering in the winter grave.

Red blossoms, delicate blooms,

graceful clothes, crimson plumes.


Unknowing of the winter's snows,

There sits the beauty of the rose,

Incites a tale of love, of Romeo, his Juliet,

Of all the tears that have been shed,

Of Loss, of Love, of Life, Of

tender words gone unsaid.


Red roses, stand alone in a winter world of gray.

When all has failed, when all has passed, has gone astray,

Love stands strong.


The End

4 comments about this poem Feed