A wind from the north country. <br />Blows through the tapestry of my mind. <br />Like flowers in the wind. <br />I sway like a silver birch. <br />Winging high I soar though the sky. <br />A bird of tell tale feather below. <br />Ah, a rose with a tinted past. <br />A tear of dew on each new petal. <br />Shadow of sky I see. <br />A big yellow eye that warns me. <br />Spring has fallen by the way side. <br />Summer warms each small bed. <br />Sleep eluded the dreamers head. <br />Days hark of summer sandwich paste. <br />Eaten down in gulps of haste. <br />Gone are the winter winds. <br />Replaced by summers warm rays. <br /> <br />Ah, our rose with a tinted past. <br />Born out of a refuse tip. <br />Born with buds pointing skyward high. <br />To catch the sun through a cloudy sky. <br />Born with a majestic air. <br />The dark clouds of heaven see you there. <br />Rain dances on your petals blight. <br />Sky thunder roars. <br />Storm of shadows pass overhead. <br />Wind of tears, tears and shreds, <br />the petals from our roses head. <br />Sky of blue, no clouds of night. <br />Looks down at the sorry sight. <br />Head limp, beauty gone. <br />Sadness of glory light. <br />No longer see the sunlight. <br />Petals sweet, insect head. <br />Food for natures bed. <br />Earth dust shower still. <br />Life is short to fulfil <br />Day - night passes a solemn breath. <br />For our tinted roses death. <br /> <br />13 June 1978<br /><br />David Harris<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-rose-with-a-tinted-past/
