Sunday, 7 August 2011

BLACK THORN

A lover’s garden
Gone to seed
Rose red he said
Whispered in her ear
Breathy and coarse
Like their love.

Desolate now,
A wasteland of loss
A garden of remembrance
She gazes now
At the long dead rose bush
Lost in the memory of reds and ambers

Black thorn she whispers,
Black thorn.  

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