Poem: Tears and Sun

Find me a yellow rose
In bud and blossom
and withering too;
Give me its thorny prose
needing tears and sun
with nothing to do.

Leave me its secret blush
hiding love and loss
and dried up hope;
Compare me to its hush
speaking true and false
with a heart to cope.

There in the garden
to live without picking;
red rose to pardon
that drinks without sipping.

 

 

A primrose by the river’s brim.
A yellow primrose was to him.
And it was nothing more.

William Wordsworth

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