barbara foster schutz

The Tempter

Linger, rose.
Do not waste your scent
Upon the careless breeze
or give your heart
to bees that hum
so pleasantly
while robbing you of gold. Come,
tender bud. I promise
you will not grow old
and fade upon the vine.
Your beauty will be
dipped in wax,
protected, lifeless Proserpine.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, October 26, 2005

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