We bloom at different times
Scenting the air with the aroma of new
Petals supple and silky to the touch
When spring clouds weep
We catch them on our petals
to adorn them like diamonds
We had thorns
To deter the ill repute
Who could not wait till our bloom had matured
Oh, we were full of ourselves
The bee’s would hover
In temptation to take the perfect one
The wind was our
Partner in crime
Swaying us to natures beat.
Oh, to remember the days
Of when we were all new roses
This is excellent Fia!
Well done chica:)
Thank you, Adel🩷
Nah, I identify as a scraggly ol pine tree. LOL. But I love the sentiment expressed in this write! It is very clever with the ideas and imagery. it gives us hope!
Thank you Sytx.😊
hello lovely Fia someday we’ll be brand new again this is beautifully written ❤️
Yes we will. Thank you Crimsin 🩷
Beautifully penned, Fia. This is a lovely write my friend, always a fan of your musings. Appreciate you, cuz.
Damian
Thank you Damian 😊
Oh damn, girl! This is a brilliant piece of writing. Not only the idea of roses, but each stage and facet of their existence…and we are indeed like them! 🌹
Yes we are. Thank you Willow 🩷
It’s a shame we can’t be new roses longer. We get older and look back at how we could have dome things better. But alas, we start to wilt and time goes on until we are dust once again. Good one Fia.
Thank you, Tim, if we could be roses longer.;))
My grandmother (my mom’s mom) had rose bushes in her backyard and roses often found their way onto the dinning room table. I would help her sometimes with weeding and tilling the soil around the bushes. It was a fun job getting my hands dirty and listening to her tell stories of her life. Your poem reminded me of her and some pieces of my younger self came alive as I read. I think Fia, if we keep those memories in our minds we are always young for they make us who we have become.
Thanks for sharing this tender poem, Fia
-Curt
Thank you, Redzone. That was a lovely memory, I a happy I caused you to remember that.
This is quite a refreshing piece.
My Grandma was called Rose and I was named after her.
I admire your connection to nature and the surroundings.
I find this exquisite and delicate in its own way.
Peaceful and pleasant read. x
Thank you, Rosie. I love the smell of roses after it rains