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Her Red Rose.

…And the girl with the red rose

never scolded me

for my fifteen year old naivety;

she simply kept the flower,

slightly doused in Brut aftershave,

till it passed into faded memory

but always keeping the three thorns

close by.

For Ali.

Ian D. Hall 2017

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This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged Her Red Rose., poetry by Ian D. Hall, poetry from Bootle. on September 14, 2017 by admin.

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Ian D Hall


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Email Ian at bluesquonk@hotmail.co.uk

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