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Of Rain and Roses


The world is a hazy shade of gray

the sky, thick with clouds, threatens

the wind increasing as if a warning

offering to pour sadness upon the earth

and smother the world below in silence.

A single drop breaks free its captor

it does not want to bring this sadness

it has only love for the sleeping world below

a love for which it is willing to give its life

it feels only the glory of its coming union

with the parched ground toward which it falls.

The drop lands upon a delicate rose petal

it rolls over the blushing softness, enraptured

a fleeting moment happiness in the intimate caress

disappearing onto thorn covered stem, gone forever

remembered only by the dampened and lovely rose

who held the drop as softly as tear upon ones cheek.

A thousand drops are thrown harshly downward now

as though sent to scorn the one who gently came before

hurled with blind fury, they assault the others path

attacking, they smash and tear at the fragile lovely rose

it tries to stand with grace against the onslaught at first

but now it leans a broken shell of what beauty once had been.

The rain upon the rose continues now unceasing

the roses pain unjust as the rain falls without mercy

its fallen petals are blown away, forever lost in the storm

the barren stem stands now nearly empty and quite broken

in the cool mournful wind that follows this angry summer storm

it does but sadly sway, it is cold, silent, and very much…alone.

Karen Quinn 1990/2013


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