Friday, 7 March 2014


My Muse the Rose 
Declared my prose verbose.

That pesky Rose 
Has rooted near my heart,
And probes thorned fingers 
To test at every part.

I must confess 
Such pain delights,
And so I draw 
That tender thorn 
And call “Encore”,
Dear Rose, au coeur…

Though I must advise: 
To reach 
The inner chambers 
Of this heart,
Such a dainty prick 
Will not suffice.

You must find 
A stronger, 
Longer spike
To batter 
Your way inside.

Manuela Cardiga

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