Glistening on the rose,
Was the morning dew so clear,
But as I touched the petals
It fell, as does a tear.
The rose looked at me repoachfully
As if she were not mine,
I had robbed her of her moment
Of closeness with the divine.
My mood went on undaunted,
The morning's happinesss was near,
My eager hands reached to hold it,
It trembled, as the tear.
Give each glad thing its freedom,
The beauty of that hour
Will be God's greatest gift,
As the dew to the flower.
Published in Anthology
Thursday, April 23, 2009
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