A year's worth of poems, every week for 52 weeks, spanning 2023 and 2024, plus the year following, from August 2024 to August 2025.(provided I live that long, of course).
Thank you, Allan Charles. I've contested the Charlie Chaplin thing a couple of times, won once, if I remember correctly. But it's the kind of thing I try when bored and have nothing better to do - just doesn't seem to have happened lately.
Little dog roses, Tudor in form,
lining the trails of my former home,
crimson and white and left in the wild,
their descendants no longer retiring mild,
gone to the city and civilised all,
used to the comforts of parlour and hall.
Still feral the daisies of forest and field,
unchanged in form and simple their yield,
doggedly pale and floral exemplar,
favourite of children’s drawings forever,
untamed and free, still they succeed,
dotting the landscape with highlights indeed.
But hey to the tulip so brave and so bold,
formal and painted so bright from of old,
once the key to Netherland’s wealth,
driving the trade and that country’s health,
now the designer and painter of grace,
striped in the fields, the lowlands bright face.
Line count: 18
Rhymed aabbcc
For Promptly Poetry Challenge, Week 25 2025
Prompt: Use these words in your poem: roses, daisies, tulips.
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