• Dead Rose

    0

    this is the hour and it’s long shadow
    vainly flickering on the edges of night
    not without reluctance sinks to rest
    amongst its sister memories, rose, O
    many a day will i mourn the loss
    of the scented sorrows you have caressed me with
    across the black rooms of my wandering nights!
    this is for a debt of fruitful sadness…
    a little wreath spun from the looms of night
    some slight flower with the alien fragrance
    of a long despair that dies, wanting itself…
    beneath the muted ghost of a lone tear
    shrivelled for lack of your envenomed thorn
    i will at times remember you with them
    as i my grey with my brilliant dawns…
    fare thee well, my love, though now i do not weep…
    may this final bouquet of white sadness
    deserve the splendour of your absent brow!

    DOMINGO C. DE GUZMAN

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