Picture
Yesterday I found a picture of you,
hidden in one of my school books,
in sepia tones - and romantic hue,
smiling nicely, were your looks!
I picked the picture and rested it
upon a book self, with loved items;
placed next to my army black beret
- you had a smile full of kindness.
In my eyes you beautifully stared,
with a becoming, Angels bestow,
behind you a drizzle forever poured,
monthly on the 16th, on my meadow.
Our first yellow rose - in your hands
- tender, accepting a caress beatific,
and it was your tenderness to expand
on petals, to inspire verses prolific.
A blunt of February, thorny in mist,
the rose resembled our novel's blithe,
his sepia petals to remind of a sting,
slowly to become my soul's scythe.
Your name in my synthesis adverted
with a question in rain unrequited
as if our love would never be abated
and all of our years equally waited.
As I connected the pieces on my mind
it was a rose sting behind my solitude;
the northern winds advanced our time,
with rain to drum my longing on a hood.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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