With daggers true and cheeks so flushed in red.
No greater lie for boys and men: suppose
That those alone would knight him on his head.
The Crown of Thorns, which nailed in wails, that pain
Impaled, and darkness cast over the sky.
How could I not admit to bearing shame!
For when the greenest bush was seen nearby
(With little dots as red as apples ate
From trees forbade to Adam’s wife!) it stabbed
My fingers; bled as feathers fall and wait,
Received like dripping petals Love has grabbed.
The sky’s almighty dove swoops in a flight
And offers me the greater Rose of White!