The English Rose (end of a dream) <br /> <br />I once met an English rose, slightly frizzled at the edges. <br />Her eyes was as green as the Atlantic sea, this alone <br />should have been a warning, ‘cause I know how untrue <br />the sea can be. Her voice sounded like tinkling bells and <br />her artistic hands could to wonders. Embraced we slept in <br />the good tiredness of exhausted lovers. But in heaves of <br />love she often whispered another man’s name, it filled me <br />with foreboding. I rang and rang, no answer, went to her <br />house, she wasn’t there, her neighbor said she had gone <br />to Spain and she mentioned a name I had so often heard. <br />The good woman saw my tears, hugged me and whispered. <br />“She is not worthy of your love.” Years went by I saw her at <br />a supermarket’s check out. Her bloom had gone, no longer <br />a rose, just a woman with a bitter lined face carrying a bag <br />of grocery.<br /><br />oskar hansen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/english-rose/
