if not alive in the heart of man
where dost thou hide
could thee be buried betwixt
the yellowed leaves of an olde novel
or lie thee brittle and fragile
amongst the shallow lines
of a paperback book
pray that it not be
that man has laid thee
there to rest
let that not be the
saddening truth
Alas! what fate man has
bestowed upon thee!
how shameful to be so
forsake!
would that it not be so...
but that thou beest in
the melody of the dewy dawn
in the sonnet of hues at sunset
in the poetry of the pure pearly moon
or
that thou hath concealed thyself
in the petals of a rose
tenderly pressed to lovers' lips..
Romance, art thou sleeping there
waiting for love to awaken thee
with a kiss
©Rose
