Where It Grows Poem by R.L Glassman

The Moon does play a nightly tune
Springing against the sky
The leaves are blown and have flown
Into my open eye
There it goes, the lovely rose
Nearing the day of wilt
Oh, where it grows, nobody knows
As the clouds they have spilt
It’s passed the bend, near the end
As it waves a leaf
This was one that was almost done
As it passes underneath
Oh, how I wish it could flourish
Right before my eyes
The one last thing I hope to bring
Is this rose’s paradise
I pray that at the end of day
The night will be so kind
To the rose that is pleasant prose
And that peace it will find

April 20th 2015