Doves coo on roofline — deep stillness by the old fence,
one rose unfolding.
Shadows at sunset,
slow breath in honeyrun twilight,
no "I" here, no me.
This morning I had thought to write about a book, but when I went out to the garden at twilight yesterday, my Heritage rose had bloomed, and the first bloom was so perfect and so fragrant that I could not resist taking a photo and posting it here this morning. It goes without saying that I love all the roses in the garden behind the little blue house, and each one is perfect in its blooming, but this one leaves me breathless every single time - astonishing in its perfect deep cupped shape, its delicate coloration, its true old rose fragrance with hints of myrrh. Just look at this rose - I wish I could find a way to share the perfume.
3 comments:
I'm speechless. Your poetry is unreal... beautiful, lovely. I would love to jot these in my journal (with your permission of course)
And the rose...
I am imagining the fragrance...it and your poem enfold me in beauty
I didn't get on line - and look what wonders I have been missing. I love roses but only have wild roses here... There is really not a good place for a rose garden. your Heritage rose and the poetry are an awesome partnering!
Post a Comment