The melting snow hath graced thee with its dew
Of beauty I cannot speak, for you hath grasped my heart
Thy delicate floral lips, of a deep crimson hue,
But thy thorns of ire rip my soul apart.
Woulds’t thou have me tear my hand to ribbons
If for but a moment I may admire thy scent?
Nay, thy thorns make love forbidden,
And send my heart into misery’s descent.
I weep for the days when winter's cold
Drove you to my loving grasp.
But the snow has melted, and we have grown old,
Our love song dulled to an aching rasp.
My love, a flower, now gone from me,
To a garden of life, where I can never be.
About the Creator
Payton Adams
Payton Adams is a small-town writer with hopes of growing to be someone well known around the world. He is currently attending the University of Wisconsin - Green Bay as an English major in hopes of achieving his goal.
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