Cemetery Rose - Poem by barry white
The cold autumn winds cannot reunite leaves
with trees-the robins rain enraptured eyes
and wind waltzed wings tempt caged tears that grieve.
A widow plants flowers-her old man lies
ready to caress the contours of a rose,
his fingers are phantoms too frail to grip
a swaying rose as the cemetery gates close
and with newly found notes the robin slips
into a rhapsody. Fingers rove across
thorns, a flower soothed into stillness
a wifes haunted heart made still by the loss
of harking for the music of madness.
Under red winter skies a robin bathes
snow falls from thorns below ice captured graves.
Comments about Cemetery Rose by barry white
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
barry white's Other Poems
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You