Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
rhbeePoems
Glad Roses . . . I can fix sad roses . . ., she says And her smile confirms Like rain on the earth That indeed sad roses Is familiar turf. But it’s not so easy This task in my mind The world with its roses Is definitely blind. They’re scentless you see And sad for that reason These roses I give No matter the season. So it isn’t the wilt from Stem to the hilt Nor the mad range of Colors that drives me so sad. But the lack of a scent And the image it recalls That hammers at my heart, Raises my walls. I can fix sad roses Her smile supposes . . . As she arrays them in a vase Then turns and pauses At the frown she can see Is still on my face. So she takes my hand and Pulls me in a way That suggests dancing As we begin to sway. And it’s then that my senses Pick up the scent Of timeless embraces And memories well spent. I can fix sad roses. I can here her voice murmur . . . And her smile is my smile As we waltz down the aisle And the laughter we hear Is from a child at play Or a family gathered At the end of the day. And the roses are real Red, white, and yellow And the music is moving And her touch smooth and mellow. And its night on our porch swing In a light breeze And the roses are shadows . . . With a backdrop of trees.
0
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Glad Roses
Glad Roses . . . I can fix sad roses . . ., she says And her smile confirms Like rain on the earth That indeed sad roses Is familiar turf. But it’s not so easy This task in my mind The world with its roses Is definitely blind. They’re scentless you see And sad for that reason These roses I give No matter the season. So it isn’t the wilt from Stem to the hilt Nor the mad range of Colors that drives me so sad. But the lack of a scent And the image it recalls That hammers at my heart, Raises my walls. I can fix sad roses Her smile supposes . . . As she arrays them in a vase Then turns and pauses At the frown she can see Is still on my face. So she takes my hand and Pulls me in a way That suggests dancing As we begin to sway. And it’s then that my senses Pick up the scent Of timeless embraces And memories well spent. I can fix sad roses. I can here her voice murmur . . . And her smile is my smile As we waltz down the aisle And the laughter we hear Is from a child at play Or a family gathered At the end of the day. And the roses are real Red, white, and yellow And the music is moving And her touch smooth and mellow. And its night on our porch swing In a light breeze And the roses are shadows . . . With a backdrop of trees.
Written by
rhbee
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem