by Dennis Copson

Created on: January 11, 2009

Crimson Illusion

My lover picked me roses

From her garden last Sunday morn,

Red blossoms in seductive poses

Nestled coyly amongst the thorns.

She vased them in a crimson arrangement

Displayed by the window in the sun.

Then I watched in nave estrangement

As my illusions came undone.

.

As those roses, I'd sung of love, heart crazed.

But I sang alone, remember?

What had been a raging blaze

Soon became a smoldering ember.

Red roses too soon wilt and die

Without love as their lullaby.

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