Author Paul Celan not on my lips look for your mouth, not in front of the gate for the stranger, not in the eye for the tear. seven nights higher red makes for red, seven hearts deeper the hand knocks on the gate, seven roses later plashes the fountain. Tags red rose Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 3.7 (3 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments