The Rose
Born on a cold and stormy night,
Frozen air, wild winds, and fire's pain,
Hiding under the blanket of flashing stars,
Knowing fear, sorrow, and nothing sane.
The turbulent river to the East,
The jagged mountain to the West,
Growing day by day, watching quietly,
Carefully hiding inside what is best.
Wishing freedom, to run and play,
Not to be the wisest or prettiest,
Just to show the garden, her colours too.
Time goes by, trampled by the blind,
Struggling to stand straight and tall,
Silent tears to wash away the aches,
Bestowed on an innocent heart so small.
Then one day, noticed, dug up and moved,
Given love and a new reason to be alive,
Through a frosted window, the garden gone,
Peter Bowey 10/02/1999
Born on a cold and stormy night,
Frozen air, wild winds, and fire's pain,
Hiding under the blanket of flashing stars,
Knowing fear, sorrow, and nothing sane.
The turbulent river to the East,
The jagged mountain to the West,
Growing day by day, watching quietly,
Carefully hiding inside what is best.
Wishing freedom, to run and play,
Not to be the wisest or prettiest,
Just to show the garden, her colours too.
Time goes by, trampled by the blind,
Struggling to stand straight and tall,
Silent tears to wash away the aches,
Bestowed on an innocent heart so small.
Then one day, noticed, dug up and moved,
Given love and a new reason to be alive,
Through a frosted window, the garden gone,
Peter Bowey 10/02/1999
