Bittersweet Sufferings Of Love

He brought me butter-yellow roses,

I was his, he thought, for our forever,

yet, I was foolish and cavalier,

no commitment of devotions.

His heart, I mourn, was golden.

What is love for me presently,

in my elder's years of remembrance,

I pause in the morns to fancy,

of romantic summer's flowers

on the garden trellis,

adoring hummingbirds court

them in dances of flight,

midst rainbow sparkles of

water in a sun shower.

The taste of strawberry wine,

of wanting him again,

as if he were everlasting

honeysuckle vines,

and there in the yard,

regally displayed,

butter-yellow roses weep

in their dewy awakening

of the loss -

in dawns of

bittersweet sufferings of love.

Write A Review

What Is Love Poetry contest entry

I dedicate this poem to the love
of my past.

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.