Rosemary Poem by Naveed Khalid

What needst thou the praise for want of word, my love,
That I from thy brow hath plucked so fair a rose;
And by the grey e'ening will erase too soon
what all eyes to the star in Beulah's night,
Straight bears witness to thee a bright-lit sky:
More to eternal bliss the darling buds of May,
Oft grow by apple blossoms under the hedgerow,
Of clay and wattle-made thistles by the stream;
But to steal looks from my bed in waking hour,
This is the happy morn of Sun's dull round of day,
Doth sing with seraph Wing in rosemary garden.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Thursday, January 02,2014 8: 56: 53 PM