English Rose Poem by Mark Heathcote

O, where roam I my English rose
But to your bed where I depose
In dying bloom and sleepless rest
Upon your lily-white breast
To do my unholy, unearthly, best

O, where does the eagle nest
But on at the farthest edge
Of the highest mountain ledge
With wings shining fluoresced
By a true hearts pledge.

O, why does the toreador kill?
When a tawny great lion hunts
It's more than just a dunghill
Or a man in many splendid garments
A man and all his sad remnants.

O, why can't I like a lame camel drink?
In an oasis desert just-to-eavesdrop
And listen to a red-headed, brick top
I'd rethink working in that sweatshop
Walking around going clip-clop.

O, where roam you my English rose
But to our bed where you'd depose
In dying bloom and sleepless rest
Upon your lily-white breast
To do you're unholy, unearthly best
Before the night is through God, bless you.