The Last Rose Poem by James McLain
The Last Rose
This old house, high up on the hill.
Now it's coming down, around me.
There is one rose bush, left to bed.
The one rose struggles, in the sun.
Now every evening..I..spread water
around each petal, love; see it open.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
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5/7/2024 6:52:53 PM # 1.0.0.1119
