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the rose (Ode) by keatsImnot

Oh shabby rose you loll your weary head Two days you bloomed in earnest and stood proud But now beauties gone your petals dead Your blackening leaves hang limply as your shroud For weeks the bees came calling to your bed And kissed your virgin petals with desire And with a maidens blush your cheeks shone red Effulgent with intense etheral fire But now your suiters call on you no more Your perfume gone your pollen sucked and dry And you are left alone bereft and poor As I am left alone to wonder why.

nentwined 11-Sep-02/12:58 PM
I hate roses. (suiters -> suitors).

a decent poem, though.




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