Poetry By Chuck



Roses are not red, their black

Nor do these roses, thorns lack.

Their wit is as strong as their ire.
Their beauty disguised in diverse attire.

A certain end are they to all.
Who fail to heed the warning call.

If you hear that deadly crack,
Its too late to to avoid the attack.

For its certain they will not miss.
Over their shoulder they will blow a kiss.

Author notes

To all those who serve.  All the gals who have given up the house and taken peace as a profession.  To the Warriors of our country.


Written August 1st, 2004