The Lark
Published in

The Lark

A Rose in December

Poetry

Photo by Mélanie THESE on Unsplash

A rose in December,
snows in July,
as far as we know
we’re expected to die.

Common sense’s infirmities,
deformities, affinities,
are pie in the sky;
as we seek to get by.

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John E Marks

John E Marks

I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can