Snowdrops and Roses:
A lover's gift,
A single bloom, a dosen, it matters not
The sentiment - the same.
Supposedly, so much is too be viewed within this
Vehicle of lust
Encapsulator of the finer feelings,
Symbolising all the days and nights we shared.
Red -
For the heat of passion,
The flames of desire,
This gift seeks to fulfill all our promises,
Professings, swearings and oaths to each other.
But is this really so?
Or have so many been so wrong, so long -
Great poets, writers have applauded it's dear qualities,
But no I for them, nor them for me -
Have all erred in this over-cliched, over sentimentalised gesture?
I believe that it is so,
For me the thorns of this flower
Are but testament to the pain of love,
That uncertain and frought path which we must all take,
Meeting obstcles, head-on, and
Overcoming just the same.
Oh, be not fooled by this bloom, this bloody valentine,
It's chosen form
The clour of hate, of hell, anger, danger..death
Of the uprising of disaffected youth,
Falg to the bull,
Does it not stand for struggle, the outpouring of blood in battle,
Ladies of the night- why do you to compare me so?
And so I urge you, emplore you, but beg I will not -
Do not follow this time-honoured tradition,
For me,
Send only snowdrops,
For as they grow in the coldest of all the seasons,
Let that, too, be how our love shall flourish,
Gentle, pure and fragile to the toucg,
Known by so many, yet esteemed by so few,
Let them rest in the gaudy masses of a lack of comprehension,
Not long lasting, but glorious none the less,
Forget the past,
Slam the door shut on our mistakes,
So that when we make look into the mirror,
The reflection gazing back is
Untainted,
The blemishes of time shall disappear,
And in their place
We are reborn. x
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