Mesalithasamut
09-03-2007, 10:17 AM
A vermilion rose burgeoned in a grove
Where all of nature was green or brown wove;
Where a rift in the tree line did give birth
To an object of purity which was alone in its worth.
A curious boy wandered 'round the grove
Till he found a red stitch that was there wove;
He sat with legs crossed, letting his mind embrace
The single string of exquisiteness he thought God did there lace.
Next to the red rose the boy just did pass,
T'was a stone that had on it a label;
It protruded up in the swaying grass:
Upon it was a short tale, a fable.
He did not return for some time to come;
To himself, sad melodies he did hum.
After ev'ry sun's voyage 'cross the day,
He would see, with eyes closed, himself 'round the vermilion rose play.
-----
I wrote this about a close friend of mine about 5 months ago.
Where all of nature was green or brown wove;
Where a rift in the tree line did give birth
To an object of purity which was alone in its worth.
A curious boy wandered 'round the grove
Till he found a red stitch that was there wove;
He sat with legs crossed, letting his mind embrace
The single string of exquisiteness he thought God did there lace.
Next to the red rose the boy just did pass,
T'was a stone that had on it a label;
It protruded up in the swaying grass:
Upon it was a short tale, a fable.
He did not return for some time to come;
To himself, sad melodies he did hum.
After ev'ry sun's voyage 'cross the day,
He would see, with eyes closed, himself 'round the vermilion rose play.
-----
I wrote this about a close friend of mine about 5 months ago.