Gert Strydom

(03 April 1964 / Johannesburg, South Africa)

No Red Rose


But once bloomed that crimson rose
which could stand with her head held high,
against life's darkest sky.

Just once did that delicate petals spread
and soft lovely fragrance scent,
before she dropped her head.

Just once the blush on your cheek,
and the light in your eye
had a thousand words to speak,
but never could it hide the pain
- and drops not of rain -
did vanish behind a bright new day,
but every pleasure it's a price to pay:
since no rose could forever stay.

Submitted: Tuesday, June 02, 2009

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