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Image for the poem the plucked rose

the plucked rose

the crown of the garden  
this elegant rose  
whose petals were jewels  
beguiling my nose  

no blemish to tarnish        
its fragrance-clad bed  
no tarnish to blemish  
no blood thereon bled  
 
reluctant, departing  
i go on my way  
its honeyed breath clinging  
the whole livelong day        
 
returning, i pause for  
another brief glance        
at that little gem  
which so made my heart dance        
        
but dripping sad teardrops  
and sighing in pain  
an empty stalk bows  
where my Rose used to reign…  
 
© Copyright 1976/Modified 2019 January 20  
by Clyve A. Bowen
 
Public link for visual version:  http://mydo.cx/ZGQ1Zjll
Written by cabcool
Published | Edited 21st Jan 2019
Author's Note
This is one of my earliest (just entering my 20s) poems. I wrote it after seeing someone admiring a beautiful rose and plucking it from the stem to get a good whiff of its fragrance. The person did not realise that plucking the rose was essentially killing it. As I watched the rose-deprived stem dripping its stain, I was inspired to memorialise my thoughts in words. I have modified the poem several times over the years, in a bid to refine it. Finally, in this version, I have addied a new stanza between the 1st and 3rd, to allow the persona to reflect on the beautiful rose a little longer before "reluctant(ly), departing (I) go(ing) on [his] way." The new stanza employs (in lines 1 and 3) the antimetabole, a literary device that involves repeating a phrase in reverse order.
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