POETRY THAT MATTERS

LOVE AND ROSES

My roses, whose threat is winter

Last unto November

Though flowers hardier

Long since are spent

True, my blossoms grow together,

Though elder blooms lend their heads

To sad remove so others live,

That sun and water grow the new

Yet all endure the loss

That engenders gifts of life

Till at winter’s sure behest

All lie down in patient slumber

Till spring arouse from season’s rest

Such is my love,

Gift to what we mortals own

The briefest breath

To come as others go

And go as others come

But in the sweetest interim

Is a glow that should never die

But does and will

Yet leaves a thought

That’s immortal still;

A thought that will

Keep this heart of mine alive

Despite death’s December chill

Why this rare gift is mine I’ll never know;

Why earth and time

Bestows this treasure

Till our eyes will someday close

Though this is sure:

The gift was an eternal rose

                                                           © John Burciaga 10/2024