I thought I might send you one of my poems. I’ve posted a couple of times, but nobody reads it, or if they do, they don’t seem to think much of it. So here it is, what do you think?

Somewhere locked in a memory, as the story goes, A man roamed in his garden, and fancied a Rose, Each day he would tend her, and treat her with care, To love & nurture her being, seemed only fair. When his eyes first espied, this delicate Rose, It filled him with wonder, His heart nearly froze, But as time did pass, and deeds were undone, He pruned back the cover, and let shine in,the sun. The sun was so warming, a glorious thing, And soon the fair Rose, was free to take wing, It's leaflets, they flourished, It's buds all aglow, A renewal of life, through its" petals did flow. The man was so happy, he marveled his art, Such a feeling of Joy, it brought to his heart, Sweet Rose, thought the man, I must bring you home, For this garden, is only a place where I roam. I must, have you near me, to have & to hold, Yet roses are fragile, and precious as Gold. For a time the man pondered, and held off the deed, Knowing well the complicity, of this rose's breed. Til at last in his heart, he could no longer wait, So, Today was the day, his fulfillment of fate. Gleefully, mad thoughts, raced through his head, But, How can I move, this sweet rose from her bed, Once at home Lovely rose, you 'will be all of mine, And then all in the world, will be blissfully fine. So with spade, and some burlap, & twine in his hand, The man headed out to the garden, where his fair rose did stand. He approached her with caution, ever sure to take care, Stopping just for a moment, at her beauty to stare. As he gazed at her fineness, deep inside flowed a pain. It occurred to him now, perhaps, his fair rose should remain, In that spot in the garden, filled with sunshine and rain, And it wrenched him, it maddened, and tormented his brain. It saddened his heart, but deep inside, well he knew, If it was best for the dear rose, it was best for him too, So he kissed her fair petals, and bid his sweet rose goodbye, Gathered the pieces of broken heart, from where they did lie. He turned away ever so slowly, in remorseful repose, For he knew in his heart, he'd never have his sweet rose.