Rose of my Dreams

by

Ronald G. Auguste

Though you may bloom, still, from afar,
How can no loss, or discontent,
Engage me, as the fire went,
Receding like a falling star --
Eclipsed by time, burned out and spent?

Spring is long gone, and Summer's seen
All of our gardens growing old;
My Fall is scarcely flecked with gold,
As Winter sneaks upon the green,
Reducing ardour in the cold.

You've bloomed in dreams upon my ways,
Since Spring, when I was out of speech;
Uncourted, you grew out of reach.
Rose of my dreams, now all my days
Are filled by fears your Prophets preach.

Green are the gardens where we grew.
Each bloom still bears a scent of you.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Las abejitas
by: Queenhorny
from: Bullas, Murcia, Spain

To visit all of Ronald G. Auguste's poems, click HERE

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