I wrote this last night as my first attempt at poetry. Constructive criticism is extremely welcome.

The Statue

The statue still upholds his post; His stony eyes bring Winter’s chill. With February frost he stares; Beneath his gaze the roses wilt.

Then Spring breaks through As Time’s wheel turns. The roses bloom With love’s return.

The cold stone eyes have lost their bite. The scarlet rose blocks out his sight. The breeze that tickles April skies Now dries his somber, knowing eyes.

As June-bugs soar And cardinals sing, My love ascends On wax-made wings.

The emerald leaves reflect her eyes Shining with the Summer’s heat. The August piper plays her tune And like a child I pursue.

The scarlet rose Now fills my thoughts The tenderness I’ve always sought.

But wheels and leaves alike must turn, And farther south, the roses bloom. Their supple beauty caught her eye. Just thorns are left. My blossoms died.

With bloody hands And heavy heart, The thorns are cleared But roots restart.

The statue’s icy gaze returns And turns the roses from my heart. Although my hands no longer bleed, The chill breeze freezes memories.

When Spring returns With love anew, This fool forgets What thorns can do.

The winter’s freeze has numbed my mind; I leave my cold protector’s side. The statue still my heart defends; My oldest, coldest, kindest friend.