Now.
Now.
I was sitting there.
It dawned on me.
The sun rose.
I pictured a rose.
A Red Rose.
Then.
I thought of my old Girl, ROSE.
Then I had to blow my nose.
But I didn't have a tissue.
Luckily.
I sneezed.
A rose by any other name,
would still rise like bread.
Stefan John
"The Mad Poet"
12.10.5
Saturday!