The white rose bush

The blue sea is the love in the sky,

My eyes are so overwhelmed over the beauty of her blueish-green eyes,

And my fingers crave to brush her snowy hair in the dead cold of winter.

The stone rocks in the garden remind me of her stoic glare,

That she would give me when I made her mad,

But I still loved that look on her-much like every other look she gave me.

Her hands were also cold,

She would sometimes shove them up my shirt to get my attention,

I always blushed when she did that.

But now it the dead cold of winter,

I glance at the dead white rose bush she loved so much,

And I cry a bit at the absent of her.

She always loved those flowers,

Perhaps she loved them more than me,

So much that she now grows the bush with her heart.