Through the Window, Looking Out

As dusk descends these windows give

a glow of warmth through clear glass panes.

From inside looking out I see

a rose whose withered, fading blooms

invoke the gloom that lurks in me.

When winter calls and harbour walls

prepare for squalls and crashing waves,

old trellis where this climber clings

bring sadness as the hours pass,

a hostage to the howling wind.

Upon the casement window hear

thin fingers scratching, sharp with thorns,

her torn and tattered petals say,

"remember how my scented breath

would offer fragrance to your day?"

Yet now the last of garnet hues

that richest shade of deepest red,

which crowned a garland round your door

and showered all with petalled fall,

decays till summer comes once more.

Reviews

[Jimmy Yetts]

Though somewhat melancholy, quite lovely.
Poetry to be admired!

[Chris Shaw]

Thank you Jimmy night-owl :))