Batter My Heart

Dearest, let these roses
    In their purity,
Be a present symbol
    Of my love for thee.
Underneath the blossom
    Thorns are sure to grow;
Take heed lest you touch them,
    They would pain you so!
Ah! my faults like thorns are,
    But cannot they be
Hidden ’neath the flower
    Of my love for thee? 

This entry was posted on Friday, September 22nd, 2017 at 10:26 am. Both comments and pings are currently closed.