Tuesday, April 23, 2019

Roses (An Easter Poem)

By Paul H. Yarbrough

--Dedicated to Francis Tyler Harrison—newest member of our family, born Good Friday, April 19.

When the color comes into view then pain abates,
Thorns first felt then tremble of the splendid femme.
Only then does nature avail such horrid fates of them.
Oh, holy rose with beauty yours do you attack flesh touch.
See the flinching form away to react to you as much.

Red is beauty, far in awe always viewed upon;
Forever charm, always sheathed for prickly tear,
It brightens hearts and stabs at flesh wholly without a care.
But delightful forever, draws upon the scenic view;
Though none resist the artful portrait of its pleasing hue.

Thou peach appreciates the lavish sea of life.
The bloom is God’s corsage, for a brooch we see.
Is it not the time of life all saved now for you and me?
The blend of fruit and tasty pulp though it finally ends,
It is a way forever ours and always will begin.

The yellow joy of eternity fills my soul.
We laugh and cry for each day we want as now.
Never trust the final joy of life, as we love our vow.
Grand is the stint so given us while bending present here;
Today’s future we claim is ours and never do we fear.

Black thy rose apocalypse raining onto dark.
We know the specter’s fire will breathe life’s spell;
And always at a front, thy gate, we see the beast of hell.
Its prophesy lain by our flesh that takes for us a breath.
We’ve stopped and waited at the door, of that we so-call death.

Oh, glorious white save glory, and glory more;
That bright white rose, purity of our new life,
Not ever do we worry as God has removed all strife.
White is now, because we knew that from God’s throne we were fed;
The pledge for our new beginning: white will be born of red.


Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!

Anathema to the Union!

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