MaryJane Thomson - Antidote

The light travels, the lamp sits still
I look at the Gold, I steal it with my eyes
I am a thief, a criminal as they used to say
Yet the rose sits there calmly and I don't steal it

It is white, not sterile
A gentle antidote to a world in metamorphosis
The rose always sits there and as long as The Earth spins
It will grow, somewhere

A symbol, sitting in a city, in a room
Reminding me, to plant generously and pick wisely

Written by:
MaryJane Thomson

Publisher:
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