Keats’s Rose
Picked among a garden, this one unique rose,
taken from green thorns, this flower she chose.
Sat upon his desk, and nurtured from stems,
drenched in water, a vase, looking back at him.
The secret of this rose was not from the attending.
The secret of its beauty was from its sending.
Beauty in its temporal form and in nature’s bloom,
eternal rose, deep within, nurtured to the tomb.
Revised 2019 CMM
Eagle and Child Inkling 