As harsh as a rose;
as soft as storms obey;
as different as many goes
each passing, slipping day.
That changing temperment
might vary by the hour.
First comes softly spent
then might grow very sour.
How be it that you can draw
all of passions desire.
First, comes beyond a flaw,
yet belated in muddy mire.
Oh, love might be chance-
on hearts it just might prey
but, what's better than romance
to stir the soul each day.
Posted on December 8th, 2002
Total poems on Poets Corner: 50
E-mail DelCano
:: 2 comments :
2 comments:
"Oh, love might be chance - on hearts it just might prey..but, what's better than romance to stir the soul each day"
No truer words were ever spoken...and acknowledged. *Nodding* O Wise One, you are the MASTER!!!
Hugs!
Chris
i expected more fire from that storm than this..........LOL
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