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A rose of different colour stood alone
amidst the grasses on the farmer's land
and in the night when moon and stars all shone
she searched her soul deep down, inside the sand.
She could not see that cattle, goats and sheep
will walk around you on their daily rounds
if you are different every soul will keep
an eye on you, and that includes the hounds.
And so she stood there, bored to tears and quite depressed
refused to listen to those bits of conversation,
ye Gods had thought that any rose would feel so blessed
to have such colour, fragrance and configuration.
One day, the rose was turning fifty-seven,
a fatso Holstein wandered, mooing and nearby,
it was the day that prickly rose did go to heaven
the blessed end came from above, a bovine pie.
Herbert Nehrlich
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| Comments about this poem (The Ignorant Rose by Herbert Nehrlich) |
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Ernestine Northover (1/5/2006 1:39:00 PM)
I hope this is an isolated incident Herbert, one poor rose, what a way to go, with the odour it was probably dead before it 'hit'! Asphyxiated! Zapped! What a sad poem. Love Ernestine XXX |
Gina Onyemaechi (1/5/2006 11:03:00 AM)
Witty anti-'romanticising' of traditional symbol of beauty and perfection. People are a lot like your roses, Herbert, namely ignorant, shortsighted, self-centred (some people, anyway) , ...and all too vulnerable. |
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