Verse in Hand


A soft and warm spring rain fell down
Upon a rose with petals white.
Splashing in puddles walking slow
I spied it in the morning light.
Globes of water pure and clear
On petals pale as death.
Sweet decay washed white and clean
Drawn in with every breath.
The color clear and fragrance sweet
Into my mind I drew.
And as I gazed and gazing grasped
within my soul there grew
A love, a longing, sad desire
To pluck it from the dew.
And so I picked the flower white
And held it in my palm.
It shall be mine and it shall be
Unto my heart a balm.
My paleness cold shall shine like this
With crystal drops its wounds to heal.
And sickly spell from death touch'd lips
It shall with sweetness seal.
But in my hand beneath the sun
My flower would not grow.
Unlike its mate left on the vine,
It wilted soft but slow.
There lay a puddle at my feet
And in it lay the sky.
Clouds reflected floated past
And in this lake went by.
One by one petals pale and pure
From fragrant rose I tore.
And dropped them floating gently down
To bloom for me no more.
They floated midst the pale blue sky
And mingled with the clouds.
Resting light upon the wisps,
The sky's translucent shroud.
And thus my loss the heaven's gain;
The sky took solace from my pain.
The sun it set, the sun it rose
And found me on that path once more.
My flower's mate, the one not pick'd,
Lay fallen dry on dusty floor.
The puddle clear which heavens held
Had left, the pavement dark and dry.
And petals from my flower pluck’d
Had risen to the sky.


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