Saturday, February 20, 2021
Withered On The Grass Comments
Rating: ★5.0
How I loved my pretty rose so fragrant in the sun,
In those butterscotch hours when time was young,
And the obsidian nights were made for dreaming,
Long before the sunset, when birds were screaming!
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COMMENTS
Captain Cur
21 February 2021
A well toasted, sweet and buttery write. A sumptuous affair with that rose lying in a bed of beautifully worded images.
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7/28/2025 2:09:17 PM # 1.0.0
Absolutely beautiful. This is poetry at it's best. A good 5*++++