The rose sways softly in the wind.
Its lips curve in a scarlet plume.
With petals vermilion defined,
And leafy tendrils in bloom.
The rose sways softly in the breeze.
A gorgeous dew-dropped blossom.
Tickled by the bees,
Eying it from top to bottom.
The rose sways softly in the rain.
Its sadness reflected in the clouds.
All it feels is utter pain,
Trying to please the crowds.
The rose weeps softly in the field.
Its petals drooping in the grass.
The rose wishes to be concealed,
Begging the bees to stop being crass.
Buzz...
Buzz...
Buzz...
They keep swarming.
The rose keeps conforming.
Painting its pedals.
Cutting its tendrils.
Buzz...
Buzz...
Buzz...
The rose lies softly in the field.
His suffering has ended.
It seems as if he's healed.
And now he's ascended.
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Bathe in Color
Storie d'amoreParis Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems. In the summer after his sophom...
