The White Rose
The white rose stands so pure this hour of love,
With hint of blush that blends with velvet skin.
Its scent follows each step the world you're in;
As ev'ry hush, the lullaby, you're of
A singing nightingale that flies as dove.
The peace that overfloweth as with kin,
Both hands in friendship held, everlastin',
Gives smile on heart as if in Heaven's grove.
Unthorned this phase, your gentle ways embrace,
My soul encradled, dreams not sleeps this bliss.
Your healing fingers deaden all the heads,
New buds emerging forth with falls of grace
That colour unborn cheeks with nature's kiss.
The white rose stands out pure in all rose beds.
Comments about this poem (The White Rose by Harriet James )
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