Roses And Stones Poem by MacGregor Tagliaferro

Come, to the great circle of shadow,
To the night, to the darkening hills,
Where roses no longer bloom,
And desire no longer comes,
So rooted in hardest heart,
That speaks and feels as an omen

This heavy-born heart stays frozen,
Like the snow in shadow,
Unmoved, or moved like stone,
By sweet touch that warms hearts,
That alters from darkness to light,
To clothe with fervent heat

When she appears with crown of light,
Draws the mind from any other
She blends her charm with grace
So well that Amore lingers in her shadow
She who fastens me in this low place,
More certainly than lime fastens stone

Her beauty, rare stone, soft rose
Untouched, out of reach;
The wound cannot be healed
Travelled, through the plains and hills,
To find release from such a woman,
Yet from her light, never a shadow thrown

Saw her walkin' undressed,
So formed, would spark love in a stone,
That love born for her very shadow,
So that I want her, and no other,
As much in love as ever yet,
Closed around by deepest desire

Roses will bloom in stones
Before this dream, so close so far,
Takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
For me, would sleep on a bed of stones,
To gaze at where she cast shadow,
To lay her down on a bed of roses

As another night of shadows descends,
Preparin' the same bed of stones
Dreamin' of her on a bed of roses