deflowered

a young man stills a rose to stir his beau
 
i.  
the ravished rosebush bows her bleeding head,  
disconsolately trembling in the dawn;
the hands of fate have tiptoed to her bed,  
and now the flower of her youth is gone.  
 
II.  
sepals and petals crushed and pistil torn,  
the motherbush weeps for her ruddy child:
cursed be the day, she says, that i was born,  
my heaven and my earth unreconciled!
 
iii.  
too soon the young man bows at jasmine's door,  
intent to woo his love, bouguet in hand;
the severed rose is all the reason more
betrayed, to feature as his magic wand.  
 
iv.  
what is this life if, for fleet happiness,  
you rape the rosebush of some lesser being?
thou art the man who, more, the world should bless,  
than with life's sanctity so disagreeing.  
 
© Copyright 2023 March 15
by Clyve A. Bowen♫