blue roses

'tween the leaves inside my head
the roses bloom a dusky red
the petals see such sights as those
that depress to make them close

and on the trunk sprung from my neck
the birds with sharp beaks sorely peck
and cause my aching wood to pain
as the sap is washed away by the rain.

and in this trunk, this wooden chest
with padlock, rusty, and at rest,
lies the velvet secret of my soul
that lies slowly burning hot as coal.

and soon this treasure chest will burn
and that from trunk can not discern
the aching birch from frosty fern.

-Pamplemousse