by Sean Portland

Created on: October 08, 2009

The Wholeness Of Roses (in iambic pentameter)

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The whitest willows, winters winds do balm
To bend and band and carry in its flow
But swallows them and steals their silver leaves
And peels the beaten boughs for whiter snow

The whiter snowfall, summers brow does buoy
With luster full and heartened as a vow
But pulls its anchor from the willows branch
And utters colour back into the boughs

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The morning may the fullest moon bequeath
A silver dearer than the dawning gold
And yet the sun has never envied crescents
For the wholeness, and affection of a rose

The sunset may betroth the silhouettes
Of roses to the hours of owls, and still
The darkness will not bargain for their fancy -
It seems the world does always as it will

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