The crimson rose sits upon my shelf,
With petals of velvet so fine,
And waits for the day it is bestowed,
Upon the love of mine,
The sun's rays fall so gracefully upon,
Its stem, so full of thorns,
And whispers to me, such songs of sorrow,
When I happen to mourn,
And yet one day as I check my shelf,
To see its beauty once again,
I find a withered black stem,
Bent, and broken,
I stare in horror as I realise,
That I have hurt one I hold so dear,
And may have caused her feelings for me,
To change, or disappear,
I cry, ashamed and realised,
That part of heart knows,
I can never truly forgive myself for,
The death of my rose.
I feel that you should disregard the hateful comment that has been posted before my own. The poem is wonderful, and I hope that you continue to write. Don't let others deflate your sense of self. I, personally, was inspired to create and account today, with the sole purpose of messaging Gail in outrage. I pray that you will not let this effect you in any way
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Gail, you are right about interpretations. And your interpretation is very distorted. I think that you need counseling to help you with your issues. Kaylo's poems are very endearing. He wears his heart on his shoulder. We all make mistakes in this world. As the bible says: He who is without sin, cast the first stone. Keep up the good work Kaylo Littleton.