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red-rose rush
Oh my luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June;
Oh my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.—Robert Burns
lack i flamboyance?
yet, am i the rose,
short-lived,
upon the altar of your
sudden pluck,
which kills
my sweet repose,
aborts my blush.
little annoyance,
that my bodyguarding
thorns
should sink their teeth
bone deep
into your flesh:
it does not cure
your red-rose rush.
and how serenely
i, upon the bosom
of the girl you love,
recline my drooping head.
i swear with my
last fleeting breath,
her kiss was sweet,
though i as good as dead.
tomorrow, she your bride,
forgotten i,
red carcass underneath
your passion tree.
the hand once held the rose
now wears the ring;
o how love thrives,
where i have bled and died!
©Copyright 2022 August 27
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
That's newly sprung in June;
Oh my luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly played in tune.—Robert Burns
lack i flamboyance?
yet, am i the rose,
short-lived,
upon the altar of your
sudden pluck,
which kills
my sweet repose,
aborts my blush.
little annoyance,
that my bodyguarding
thorns
should sink their teeth
bone deep
into your flesh:
it does not cure
your red-rose rush.
and how serenely
i, upon the bosom
of the girl you love,
recline my drooping head.
i swear with my
last fleeting breath,
her kiss was sweet,
though i as good as dead.
tomorrow, she your bride,
forgotten i,
red carcass underneath
your passion tree.
the hand once held the rose
now wears the ring;
o how love thrives,
where i have bled and died!
©Copyright 2022 August 27
by Clyve A. Bowen♫
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