Wednesday, October 31, 2007
eighteen roses
11am morning surprises, friends bestowed upon me
fresh, blood-red buds
singing joyously
a toast to birth
a rose for love
a toast in mirth
a rose to serve
petals held by sinews of spring
will they fall in autumn's wind?
in a rush of youth,
for that blush of truth
eighteen roses wrinkled and dried
pressed between thick, hard encyclopedias
and kept in jars of brine,
can they, will they last through time?
un moment à se rappeler
. a moment to remember.
