Books and banter by W.H.Manke

A Broken Promise

There, on my table,
In the center stood
In crystal
On the polished wood,
A rose,
Exquisite in design.
Its head,
A crown,
More finely shaped
Then any by a mortal made.
Its strength,
A thorn, poised and secure,
A promise ring,
Of long life sure.
Its breath,
A healing for the soul,
A touch of love,
Sweet, beautiful and whole.
Each silken pedal
Perfectly the other wed,
But there on my table,
The rose was dead.

W.H. Manke – Sept. ’94