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Poetry of Martha Baird

Red Is Not For Dying

Red, the rambling roses fly,

Encircling you, encircling me,

Crying as they fly so high and furiously

That flight must one day come to stillness,

Fury spend its energy and die.

The unrelenting infinite is hard

For rambling roses.

Red, the rambling roses cry.

From Nice Deity (Definition Press)
© 1955 by Martha Baird

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