The Rose Wept Dew

When I plucked a rose
dappled with dew
I saw the face of
a lover I knew.

When I breathed
your perfume in
a boyish lark
there was no
possible smart remark

to make.

When you danced
upon my grave of dreams
and saw the rose wilt,
all hope left
our reflected lake

too late.

Lost faces laughed
without care
as you smiled at
at an inner joke
so true, fair and cruel.

But I made peace
with your yoke

neck stretched
across that failed pew,
beauty fled while
the rose wept dew.