Far from the coast a solemn breeze blows,
over the ocean and rattles his bones.
Bringing with it a silent omen
of the vicious winds to come.
The horizon darkens and his uncertainty shows
by spreading goose flesh from his hands to his toes.
Quiet speed hastens the rapid air flow,
carrying the lingering smell of a rose.
He flees the beach to avoid the memories,
from this oppressive invasion of his nose.
Yet still it follows him through winding roads,
the smell, the feel, the thought, of a rose.
With thorns to get lodged in his frontal lobe,
and short out his brain until it overloads.
At last he stumbles upon a gathering,
in these trees' humble abode.
The forest line stands strong,
and he would never impose,
yet these trees' leaves stopped the memories,
from following him home.