Poetry from The Well

Roses

Pull the weeds who are pulling at

your taffy heart.

Sink into the damp garden and

bow to your roses.

Rain and wind will deliver more

thirsty wildflowers

ready to lick the blood

off your pricked fingers.

Roses are red,

violets are blue.

All of my friends

glitter with dew.

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3 thoughts on “Roses

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