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The Remembrance Rose
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The Rose The reddest of roses,
Taken from her grave.
Pressed now between the pages,
Of her diary.
For fifty years you have stayed.
I have never loved another,
Never have I strayed.
Her confidence and loyalty,
Have never been betrayed.
Oh reddest among roses,
What heartache we have seen.
Were it not for you,
I’d think it all a dream.
You plucked from a garden,
Her from my arms.
Both given a glance of heaven.
Neither given a chance to grow.
My life is all but over.
But you sweet rose will stay.
Pressed between the pages,
Of my true love’s diary.
There are not enough words in the Engliash language to describe the aching beauty of this elegy. And, if I may be permitted a pun, the remembrance in the title also predicts the remembrance that this poem will have in years to come. This is a magnificent achivement.
Starward
This is a very beautiful write
ron parrish
Im trying to figure this one out. Beginning lines sound like a woman died, thenit goes on to say plucked from her arms,is this the husband missing his wife? Is the rose something he picked at her grave but then in the end the rose is in "her" diary. Explain this one
Again, a beautiful piece about a rose. There is simply nothing better. But truly, you have wonderful work. Keep it up, seriously.