There was a rose I knew,
Once full in bloom and sweet;
A most precious rose, with
A beauty that all could see.
It was watered and fed,
Most carefully,
Tended to and weeded,
Cared for and much needed.
A storm came along,
Much worse than others before;
It was torn from it's roots,
Tossed upon a distant shore.
The rose withered and wept,
The loss of it's roots were felt,
The loneliness of it's heart;
Darkened one by one, the petals fell.
Torn and twisted,
It lay upon the shore;
Discarded and thrown away,
It remembered what came before...
Before the storm,
There was life and light;
Now only death and darkness,
The rose slipped into the night.
Resembling hardly a weed,
The rose died shortly after;
The loss of it's roots,
The tender care,
The loving need;
Lost forever...
To the storm of another's greed.
The story was of a rose,
Once full in bloom and sweet;
A most precious rose,
With a beauty all could see.
Written by M. White 12-10-02
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Journey of the Archangel...Let it be something that maybe someone out there can understand and let it be real for them. Be it through poetry, a story, or just a simply log entry...let the words speak to you....hear them, for they are there for you.
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