Superstites Rosae Poem by Richard Rowe
Superstites Rosae
Rating: ★2.8
The grass is green upon her grave,
The west wind whispers low;
"The corn is changed, come forth, come forth,
Ere all the blossoms go!"
In vain. Her laughing eyes are sealed,
And cold her sunny brow;
Last year she smiled upon the flowers --
They smile above her now!
Saturday, January 4, 2003
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4/16/2024 6:04:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I love the old feel of your beautiful poem