The Bouquet

Teardrops fall

A smile lifts

And now my weary roses

Weep their heads

Beautiful in the dying bow

Petals drifting

To ground below

 

I went to throw them out today

But I couldn’t

For in the casting light

Through windowpanes

Waning sun

With promise for night

In my sights

Colors of rainbow

Sleeping winks

Before the grave

Takes them

They pose like ballerinas

 

I stop to smell

Sweet rose death

Beauty of swans

Taking sips

From windy ripples

 

I decide to keep them another day

To watch their way

In the rising bright

Cloaking like butterfly wings

And the birds singing

Oh, what will my roses

Have to say then?

 

 

 

Reviews

[paparapapa]

Oh my, I can totally relate. I loved how this poem flowed. And I love how you described the image well. Nice poem. ;)