This rose is painted red!
It's painted red, I said!
It's white beneath
the crimson sheath
that covers its pale head.
How do I know it's white?
'cause white is only right.
It's pure and clean
and so pristine
it glows in the moonlight.
But who would ever taint
a white rose with red paint?
Perhaps a sinner
or poor winner.
Surely not a saint.
Will the truth be known?
Will only red be grown?
Are we stuck
and out of luck
to have a bloody throne?
No, there will be a day
when we'll look back and say,
"It took some time
and lots of rhyme,
but rightness found a way."
No comments:
Post a Comment