This Rose

©  Steve King

All rights reserved

I shall pluck this rose for you,                                    

damp still with the morning airs;                                

every flower is fleeting fair,                                       

but only this rose will do.                                           

I’ll be patient ‘til you speak                                        

(unsought cheers seldom ring true                            

while regrets are clinging new)                                  

though your vigil tends the week.                  

           

I shall embrace all your cares;                        

and endure each new-found grief;                              

share what unkept troths bequeath,                            

I will show how love repairs.                         

Joy shall visit you anew,                                            

and respite from these despairs                                              

which despoil the heart’s affairs,

when I give this rose you.


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