child poem

into the silent land
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
a very remarkable history this is
in an old chamber softly lit
perhaps
our pleasant moments fly
when, full of warm and eager love
sweet splendor
earth travails
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
just as my fingers on these keys
for then without
there is no flock, however watched and tended
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale