I'll never be a damask rose
Those cool gloved fingers
They've never met the sun-
I'll never strike a painted pose.
I can't be bought with rings.
Those promised gifts
They cannot satisfy -
I've little care for useless things.
You, if ever a tale have told
Of longing for a soul -
You have bought but grief,
And sold your love for gold.
YOU ARE READING
Fragmentary Portraits
Poesíapoetry collection. a look into the window of other souls.
