Sonnet 30 - A Dozen Roses
Sweet roses I send to your door today
In honour of the sweet love that we share,
But only twelve would fit in your bouquet
Instead of many more that I would dare
For if left up to me, not twelve I'd send,
But hundreds, even thousands to your door
To signify the times my heart did mend
By your hand when hate deemed to settle score,
The times you kissed me in the summer's rain,
The times you kept me warm in winter's chill,
The times you left but swore you'd come again
To heal each hurt and make well every ill,
And every time you've proven your love true;
For that, I send these roses red to you.
Toiréasa Alisón
16 June 2009
















Comments
Well done.
:]
--
"Humor is almost always anger with its make up on."
- Stephen King (Bag of Bones)
--
You can never kiss an Irish girl unexpectedly...
:]
--
"Humor is almost always anger with its make up on."
- Stephen King (Bag of Bones)
You write them beautifully. I do hope M loves poetry! (how could he not
--
"I am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the world."
- Socrates
And aye, Martin loves poetry.
--
You can never kiss an Irish girl unexpectedly...
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