O PRINCESS DIANA

by

(At the news of her Death)

O God! How quick the bloom of being blows free!

Plucked from Life's Tree ... by an ignoble fate....

Rare is the rose which leaves earth, sky and sea,

Imbued with scents to haunt each future date.

Nurtured by precious values -- gems, inborn;

Commingled with rare love and care -- a queen's;

Each of her actions lent light to life's dawn,

Suppressing it's dark gloom -- all that demeans.

Should Angels come, to rain tears of their own,

Death -- her demise -- would render more, not less!

In truth, in merely coming, they'd have shown

A Heaven's need to make known its Distress....

Nonesuch -- the best of being -- so hard to find,

Angels might come, to replicate her kind....

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Love Songs United
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

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