Come The Roses

A little bird told me is the story of my life.

Before dawn thick clouds conceal starry skies.
I must use other senses to espy
solar eclipse, new moon, starstruck as June
unfurls andante. Graceful roses croon

soon late afternoon honeysuckle scents
heavenly sweet on magical air sent
to awaken delight and free. The fight
continues about me. Standing in light

as the darkness rushes nigh to be claimed:
this, too, is mine. This, too, I name. The game
is clear, reflected in the gleaming lake.
I scratch the itch and nosh on now, fast break.

Inspired by: Scratch, Andante, Nosh and my mother’s eight orange roses (at dawn, I’m barefoot, photographing roses in the dark with a flash.)

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

4 thoughts on “Come The Roses”

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