My dear, the tiny rosebud
That you had once gifted
me
Is as beautiful now this
day
As was when you came my
way
It does still as softly
bloom
Fragile with its protected
heart
And petals of soft
chenille
Bringing radiance all the
while
For sure it spelt
friendship I know
Being it not red but a
fresh yellow
And though it exuded a
closeness felt
Never ever did your intent
love spelt
Foolishly had I hoped that
it may
Turn its tint and blossom
my way
But neither did it flower
nor did die
While each morn I waited
with a sigh
My Love, ‘tis time perhaps
I see
To open the book that does
lie in me
Filled with tender
memories of you
Each page echoing your
special hue
And take the petals of
that bud
That’ll never flourish
with your love
And place twixt each page
to nurture
Me, in the twilight years
of my future