Rue Rose by Anastasia Clark

Rue Rose


She took your rose

And stepped on it

A hundred times-

And rendered it useless…


There on a gray-dead sidewalk

Now pink with her discontent-

And maimed with her tide

Of arrogance…


As she walked away

In a bleak turn of events-

When the wind

Divided her skirt-


And I can still hear

You rising-

A hundred miles




(c) 2007. Anastasia Clark. All rights reserved.