Search
  • Kirk Barbera

The Last Rose by Dale Hensarling

Shall I cast the flower from this bridge

See the petals glide below, delicate as the snow,

Southern winds carry my thoughts away

Faded as the grass, withered as chaff,

Love’s epitaph.


Were we not to be?

But the thorn that pricked was hidden for awhile

We danced and smiled, lay gentle and wild,

Upon linen sheets, exploring

Closed to the world, ignoring,

Love’s euphoria.


River take it all away, the memories

Of broken promises and possibilities

Wash this past, free me at last,

Falling like feathers to your watery grave,

A last flight, flower wings, that I might save

From love’s hate.