October 7, 2013 by phicks2012
Lyrica, the usefully invented Muse of Lyric Poetry, strikes me often in the head with her wand of poetic smiting. When this occurs, inspiration pretty much forces me to situate myself in front of either a keyboard or some paper medium, and to create some form of verse. The verses are not always worthy of sharing — bawdy limericks are, after all, still structured verse — but the fact remains that I am reasonably prolific when it comes to churning out rhymes.
What follows is yet another of those inspired by friends, and I hope you will enjoy it.
Dreaming ‘neath the skies of summer, nodding as the winds pass by,
Heavy with the dews of morning, waiting for the night to die,
There beside the cottage hoping for the warming sun to rise,
Stands an English rose a-blooming, seen through blushing summer’s eyes.
Fragrant in the ardent dawn she lifts her face to taste the sun.
She may fade, or bloom forever where the streams of memory run.
Mantled green and garbed in velvet, she to elegance was born
But the hand that seeks the beauty carelessly may find the thorn.
Who would pluck the rose to savor should in doing so take care.
Better leave her by the cottage with her fragrance on the air.
Though her beauty is a symbol of a true abiding love,
Wounds can follow the endeavor if the hand forgoes a glove.
Take your joy that she waits blooming, where the sunlight warms the soul,
By the doorway to the cottage, well content to play her role.
Flavoring the world around her with her sweet elusive scent,
There unfolding like a promise, harming never her intent.
[25 February, 2013]