Thursday, August 22, 2024

My Poetry:To Rosemary

 

TO ROSEMARY

 

A rich red rose is beauty rare,

Made up for joy with Nature's care.

The dewdrops, glistening in the sun,

Stand out like diamonds, every one.

 

But all too soon the roses fade,

And leave dead blossoms' black decay.

The base stems, baring studded thorn,

Show clearly all their passing morns.

 

So too, at last, all life must leave,

And Spring joy turn to Winter's grieve.

All feeble conceits shall be done,

And lie like rudest dust, each one.


This I might identify as my 'first real poem.' It is certainly a bit overwrought and clunky, as one might expect from a teen in high school. It is dedicated to my first cat, Rosemary, that I had since Fourth Grade. It has been rewritten several times. One time Nanny, my grandmother, borrowed it to use in a eulogy at one of her friends' funeral, which I found rather embarrassing. She had asked me to write some poetry for the ocassion, but I was stuck since I had not known the lady and didn't know what to say about her. But Nanny was insistent that something must be had. So quite early I compromised whatever artistic principles I might have had.  

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