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

Away.

 

 



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