broken token

“A rose must remain with the sun and the rain or its lovely
promise won’t come true.”—Ray Evans
 
on bended knees my rose now bows,
for broken are the solemn vows
the suitor and his beau made on her head.
tossed through a window in disdain,
her blush shall ne'er be red again,
for, in the cold, she faints, as good as dead.
 
she whimpers in the cruel earth,
how indisposed, where once her worth
was weightier than tried silver or fine gold!
for lovers, when their filigree
explodes with vexful tyranny,
get burnt, e'en as romantic flames wax cold.
 
where roses bloom, tulips must kiss,
and sweet forget-me-nots dismiss
dark memories of prejudice and pride;
for, when rose reapers smell their bloom,
there's no heartspace for fret and gloom,
as flow'rs and wines and love and song collide.
 
when treasured friendships we have built,
like jilted roses, droop and wilt,
where can the balm for broken hearts be found?
nurture your rosebush day and night;
let not the wayward appetite
consume joys that should spring from fertile ground.
 
© Copyright 2023 December 05
by Clyve A. Bowen♫