The Rose
I was born a beautiful flower
Up my stem a mouse climbed
To inhale my scent and sleep
In the centre of my rose bud
Alas, the raven knows of no
Beauty I was an innocent ruse
Stealing the beauty of sleep
And in my feeling of freshness
Self-indulgent kiss like words
I saw nothing untoward
I should have seen.
We roses are too beautiful
To be political revolutionary
A rose uproar in Portugal
It was quickly strangled by
Social democracy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Intriguing poem. For those of us who are unaware, please tell us about the rose uproar in Portugal. It sounds fascinating. (Perhaps you could add a poet's note.)