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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♫
Written by cabcool
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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