Oh Rose as has been said of you
By poets/great/small
Your name be it any other
What er your color, smell.
At your heart a heaven/hell
Even your perfume smell
Of clean or dirty shit
You the Rose would still be sweet
For all occasions
love/life/death....
jeff
Comment by David Turner on December 19, 2007 at 6:18pm
O Rose thou art sick
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy. !
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