(no subject)
Well, the good news is, I just took my last test of the term. The bad news is, I have three ten-page papers to write by Monday. Yeesh. Have a poem.
Dedicated to Buzzy, of course, and to the ladies in general.
Roses Grow Old
My love, I'll never know why you curse
your every birthday and war against change.
Don't you know your roses on my table
have grown lovelier after several days?
They are open now, their rounder, softer shape
showing ten thousand layers of their heart,
each one perfect, without shame.
Dedicated to Buzzy, of course, and to the ladies in general.
Roses Grow Old
My love, I'll never know why you curse
your every birthday and war against change.
Don't you know your roses on my table
have grown lovelier after several days?
They are open now, their rounder, softer shape
showing ten thousand layers of their heart,
each one perfect, without shame.