Born as a bud,
blue, green, yellow, gold,
is my glowing colors as I grow old.
A bounty of beauty on my quest,
time is a giver and taker
of love and loss'
One by one I gently fade
into life as a withering Rose
By Randy Hogan
© 2009 Randy Hogan (All rights reserved)
Simply beautiful Randy. The imagery of a rose never dies in our hearts of red. I always try to use, and love color in poetry. And you do me proud. I can never understand why white roses became so fashionable, when there are so many simply stunning colors. Great work. Top marks Karin Anderson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so true and meaningful--- a blooming bud first then a bloomed beautiful flower and finally a withered one-- but if one has done his or her good deeds whilst being that flower or bud--- then all the world remembers the fragrance even if it has withered and all the petals scattered. A++++and 10++++ anjali