It is difficult to know what is right in all cases. - M.B., I.210.29

The Withered Rose



I stand here
On this lonely road
Amidst the sands of snow,
No sense of time,
Fog rises ‘round
The Maple and the Oak,
Certain you won’t
Be here today;
Certain of my fate,
Certain of my
Seared longing;
Withal, I wait,

A bird takes flight
From a near-by tree,
Some stardust snow
It showers on me,
I shiver under
The dim sunshine,
The shiver stirs
My memories,
A petal falls
On the snow
From the withered rose
That I hold,
The sun gets warmer
Secretly,
The sun borrows
My memories,

The rose smells
Different today;
Unlike it smelt all
These years,
When ‘t was
Fading away
Silently
In my copy of
Shakespeare,

A harder wind
Blows my way,
The fallen petal
Blows away,
May it find you
And your way;
Certain you won’t
Be here today,

The withered rose
Heaves a sigh,
And I sigh for you,
I sigh too for
The withered rose
For it can’t find you,
I sleep peacefully
Every night for
I e’er dream of you,
Certain you won’t
Be here today,
And so let us
Keep the rose due,

And sure I am
A day would come
When my body turns a heap,
Will you see it then
That my epitaph says,
‘He’s not dead; but asleep’?
                      






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