Hello again,
I mentioned in the previous post that I used to memorize a lot of poetry. Here is one (written from memory - I did, however, check the punctuation):
The Sick Rose
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
It's by one of my all-time fave poets: William Blake - a brilliant poet and artist.
P.S. The photo is not mine this time, it's from FreeFoto.com. I happened to not have a picture of a rose handy.
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