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Poems On / About ROSE  1/31/2015 6:28:54 PM
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  237.     

An Ordinary Rose

I saw a rose, an ordinary rose
It struggled to be seen
In a garden overgrown
With harsh reality. I saw a rose, an ordinary rose
And this rose spoke to me,
Pleading for attention:
Is beauty not a need? I stopped to touch this ordinary rose
And it reached out to me,
Imparting its sweet fragrance
To my senses gratefully. I saw a man, an ordinary man
Who struggled to be seen,
His spirit languished on the streets
In dire neglect and need. I stopped to help this ordinary man
Who struggled to be seen,
And like the rose that bloomed with care
He too reached out to me. Fate placed these roses in our midst
So why should we complain?
Remember who created them
Who witnesses their pain. When next you meet that special rose
That struggles to be seen,
Remember, but for fate alone
That could be you or me.
 
Devorah Seidenfeld

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Read more: rose poems, fate poems, remember poems, beauty poems, pain poems, alone poems
   
 

   
   
 

  238.     

Red Rose Destitute Prostitute

Rose has the reddest hair I've seen...
Rose is a prostitute of high repute....
Rose smiles and all your thorns fall off
along with your shoes..............................
Rose and I get along real swell not like
you think....
Rose lives on the streets as well...being as
she is actually she has as many as tree
or four homes a day.
Rose did not show up for her doctors appointment.....
Rose was found in an empty lot with her bush
lopped off.
Rose was destitute when found she was sent off on
what we call the gravy train to every where
rose was cremated under tarp then bailed out.
 
Cigar Aficionado

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  239.     

My Loss

IN the world was one green nook I knew,
Full of roses, roses red and white,
Reddest roses summer ever grew,
Whitest roses ever pearled with dew;
And their sweetness was beyond delight,
Was all love's delight.

Wheresoever in the world I went,
Roses were; for in my heart I took
Blow and blossom and bewildering scent;
Roses never with the summer spent,
Roses always ripening in that nook,
Love's far summer nook.

In the world a soddened plot I know
Blackening in this chill and misty air,
Set with shivering bushes in a row,
One by one the last leaves letting go:
Wheresoe'er I turn I shall be there,
Always sighing there.

Ah, my folly! Ah, my loss, my pain!
Dead, my roses that can blow no more!
Wherefore looked I on our nook again?
Wherefore went I after autumn's rain,
Where the summer roses bloomed before,
Bloomed so sweet before?
 
Augusta Davies Webster

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  240.     

The Rose

Every rose has its thorns
A beautiful flower with a bothersome mark
So what seems to be flawless
Is really quite stark.

A rose doesn't know it has thorns
And doesn't know the pain it causes each day
But how do you tell a rose that it has thorns?
Because it won't hear what you say.

A rose is a beautiful flower
And it draws us in near
But if one gets too close
They may soon shed a tear.

The rose seems to be perfect
Because of its beauty and smell
But the thorns of the rose
Leave many to quell.

The allure of the rose
Can be quite misleading
For the thorns of the rose
Can leave us all bleeding.

A rose's thorns can be cut
But the scars will remain
They cannot be forgotten
For they created much pain.
 
Antonio Dias

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