No Place for Roses
Who worries about the roses gone wild?
Once caught on a breeze, they never looked back,
Never regretted the domestic beds
They left for wild nights of rockside living,
The moss softening their root-reach inward
Toward the stream-softened richness of woodland
History told in the glacial lines of rock faces,
Walls in winter shadows awaiting snow.
Romping through the hillside, wild roses wrap
Themselves around shagbark and birch, leaning
Into strength that knows time and will bide time,
The plain truth that even roses will pass.
I see them; in love, I will claim their lives;
My wild bed has no place for sister wives.
Author: Sandy Lee Carlson
Photo: Valeria Bold on Unsplash
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