A  Rosebud  Rescued...

 

From the wind and rainswept Autumn garden -

Opening day by day in a little blue pot…

The little blue pot my daughter made - aged five -

Its glaze aglitter with gold specks

Amidst the forget-me-not blue -

Just like my daughter's eyes.

 

I sit at breakfast and stare.

And gaze and gaze at the pale pink ever-opening Rose...

With her inner glow of lemon gold.

 

Today she gives out perfume.

She is ripe and fertile

And messages the bees and insects

With pherohormone come-ons,

While still seductively covering her stamens

With waving petal curls.

 

I gaze and gaze and sip my Latte slowly.

 

When there is no longer perfume

She will still be beautiful for days more -

Till she drops and graces the compost heap.

 

I call her female because she can birth

But of course she's androgenous!

I gaze and think - and speak to her spirit -

And thank her for her gifts -

Of birth and growth and beauty and death...

 

Day by day she widens and now the stamens are all very visible -

A plea for bee kisses and licks - before its too late!

 

Where does this spirit gas of pherohormone power go -

 as she recycles?

 

And are we any different? -

Just gases made manifest into a passingly dense atomic form.

 

So I like to think the 'Thanks' and 'Hellos' I photon to her

And my beloved parents,

Flick positive vibes for all eternity

Somewhere in the cosmic web forever.

And I hope you breathe them in sometime

And relax and dream

In the perfume of an eternal rose.