The Evil of Nature



Why must ye wither ole rose?
Hath ye been conquered by autumn's sting?
Is thy root no more?
Doth nature-death- to thy pedals bring?

For as sure as the tree bears fruit, The leaf will surely die;
Each limb does his own task, Death- a humble end- so ask, Nature, answer the question 'Why?'.

The cycle- each new bud begins, The season its only life;
For the future of the flower,
It's one of birth, death, and in between-strife.

Ist thou no more, beautiful rose?
Can ye not bud once more?
Doth ye not fertile your own kind?
Or doth ye fear in your mind?
The children of nature's whore?

About this poem

Written in 1991

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Written on May 08, 1991

Submitted by r_p on December 08, 2023

38 sec read
3

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABCB DD EXE ACFFC
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 585
Words 127
Stanzas 4
Stanza Lengths 4, 2, 3, 5

Richard Phillips

Born in Carrollton, Ky; Enjoy playing guitar and family. more…

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