Today, I am but a rose
I live like any other
To love and be loved.
Yet, for all my poise
On a warm summer day,
Who am I to judge
When winter will rest
Its tired feet?
Will I rise
Like a petal in the wind?
Or will I fall
Like an angel clipped of wings?
Who am I but a rose?
A gift of heaven.
A slave of death.
And in the end, unknowing.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.10 seconds at 10:09am on Nov 22, 2024 via server WEBX2.