First Rose

A heart of youthful year was yearning, Crying out the pain; the burning Tears would e’er remain until An answer from the man would see them die. A sympathetic mirror blessed her – Softened up the curves, caressed her Skin to help regain a calm – Assuage a heaving breast and blushing eye. And through a struggling mind, a chiming: Someone at the door; the timing Perfect and exquisite in the Reconciliation of her woes. She took the oak to make the parting, ‘Here! ’ a presentation startling. Drawing deep through radiant lips, she Kissed her very dream: a crimson rose. Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010 rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose rose rose rose rose: : rose rose rose rose