Wednesday, December 21, 2011

❀ Roses ❀ by George Eliot

 You ℒℴѵ the Roses - So Do I. 

From off the shaken bush. Why will it not?
Then all the valley would be pink and white

And soft to tread on. They would fall as light
 As feathers, smelling sweet;
and it would be 

No comments:

Post a Comment