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Rose

Heather Lydia Thornhill 1981 (Manchester)



The centurions presence was instantly felt.
Hands on his sword he bowed his head.
He joined the ranks never shying away.
The power he left all could never shed.
He'd come to acknowledge in recompense, what was to come through eternal glance.
His love his crown, his heart his immortal robe.
Thus all awaited what would be his stance.
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Written on September 08, 2021

Submitted by heathert.34240 on October 04, 2021

18 sec read
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    "Rose" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 26 Jan. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/111258/rose>.

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