Monday, 28 March 2011

Mourn Ye The Loss of Innocence

by Nancy Snipper

How is it that the red rose
Robed in petals silk and soft
Can sprout a thorn
Whose pointed part pricks the heart
and plucks out youth
A peace once born,
so sweet, so soft, so unadorned
and coils it into crusty age
that caws and crawls around a skeletal cage
of a once red rose?