White roses, tiny and old, hoveramong thorns by the barn door.
For a hundred years under the
June elm, under the gaze of
seven generations, they floated
briefly like this, in the moment
of roses.
Unknown
Psst ~ I really don't think I have a romantic bone left...so this is for you.
3 comments:
I just love old fashioned wild roses, so impromptu yet stunningly beautiful.
Love your poem...just the fact that you have posted it, shows you 'do' have a romantic bone ;)
Loved the roses! Computer crazy! Mercury must be retrograde! If u have time, do u mind to try and leave comment? Think I finally have this fixed!
Maggie is recovering from surgery and am busy w follow up care w her. Had to postpone Eureka Springs trip due to her illness.
hope to hear from u soon!!
I love the roses - I have a very special one in my garden in memory of my Dad! Beautiful poem too.
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