Raindrops and Roses

No one notices, and I don’t complain.

A shaft of sunlight peers through the steeple,

and a pleasant cloudburst of summer rain

is content to make a ghost of people.

 

I span the bridge that crosses the water

as it ripples into an endless sky

and spot a frolicking river otter

within the switchgrass that rises nearby.

 

It’s always the same in moments like this,

in a litany of raindrops and roses.

There is a sacredness, a gentle bliss.

One flower opens; another closes.

 

I draw a sketch on pink petal pages

so I can fly back on wings of recall

to gather the ash of faded ages

when both my memory and eyelids fall.

 

Evergreen echoes spill into the mist.

I walk the water with my eyes in tears.

I drown in the rush of the sweetest kiss

that has lasted me the measure of years.

 

Daylight fades into the garden of night,

into the breath of braided daisy chains;

but I remember the warmth and the light,

how we used to dance in warm summer rains.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Lisasview]

Oh goodness, the feeling your lovely poem and fabulous image gave me will last within me for quite awhile.
I love these lines
but I remember the warmth and the light,
how we used to dance in warm summer rains.
Again, I love the way your poem made me feel...
closer to the world...well, I guess that dose't really make sense..does it? But closer to the energy the world..
My heart is filled with that feeling...
Lisa, still in Spain

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Dear Lisa,

Thank you so much. What a beautiful review! I am so glad to have touched you.

[Lisasview]

You are most welcome,
Lisa

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Linda Marie... the gentle rain on rose petals is
the earth's lullaby... tenderly, Pat

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, Pat.

[John the Baptist]

"One flower opens; another closes." This one is filled with beautiful imagery, yet there is a sadness that hangs over it. The speaker is taking note of the beautiful moments so that they might be recalled in those future times when age has eroded memory. The last two verses turn to an episode that was beautiful until things went sour, and which the poet has touched upon frequently. Even the painful times have portions that are worth recalling.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you, John. I always relish your reviews.