third rose
in neighbor's well rusts old bucket 's jaw
on flowers naps summer, in the garden, silence,
from beyond the green grays old picket fence
a knot and a splinter in the sun flash
old bucket hits the mirror of water with a loud splash,
at clouds in the sky let us look through leaves
let us bring our souls so close so they can trade dreams.
the scent of roses, a bird's song and two laboring souls
and two beings hiding in the green... and in the chaos of shadows
and in the sunlight rhythm...
and when besides the soul and the flesh
there is a third crimson rose which will outlive ages ash
then let this be the rose which burns in our breast,
the third rose, other than the soul and the flesh...
2007-07-10
14:39:48
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4 answers
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asked by
Anonymous
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Poetry
qwerty, thanks...
2007-07-10
14:48:28 ·
update #1