The Solitary Rose


                   


Who really knows why a rose is so beautiful?
Why does a Solitary Rose weep with the tears
collected from a hazy morning’s shimmering lacey dew?
If one looks at a wild rose growing in silence deep within a forest
is there a sadness seen by the invisible bodies of our spirits past high above,
as they tarry yonder and overhead looking down from a sky so gentle and carefree blue?

People who Love are enamored with roses
They cultivate them and spend hours on end watching them bloom
Those, like me, who cannot afford one Solitary Rose
can only feel sorrowful and lacking when Valentines Day arrives
For deep inside a part of me is painted with a wide brush in the
color of a cold gray tone and hardened in mournful-shaded hues

From the years that have past
I remember many roses and the fragrance that they had
I can still see the slender elegant vases of crystal
that shimmered in the artificial light of a room
I can remember the happiness,
the heartfelt gratitude, the warm smiles of delight
and each and every word spoken in thankful joy when I gave those roses…

Those days though…They were shattered like those discarded vases
when the rose no longer blossomed and was left to wither
Past youthful and very different days…
Days taken from me long ago and much too soon

Yet still, there is another part of myself that admires the beauty of the rose
Even if a single one I cannot present, smell, touch or even hold in my hand
For is not a rose just an expression given as a gift ~
an offering of admiration of the beauty possessed in romance in physical form?
A gift that a man knows shows his feelings and his deepest emotions held
when he stands before his chosen one?

So now…

Behind the current thorns in my minds eye, growing on the arbor of my thoughts
Climbing upon a ladder of a wood, on a white painted mystic trellis and
amid a captivating and breathtaking explosion of the sun
that reflects the colors of the prisms that only I, myself, am able to view
I would choose a red Solitary Rose that is still virgin and young and bursting with life
Snipping it close to the stalk I would smile and give silent thanks to Mother Nature for it…

Then…

Looking into your eyes Cynthia
Smiling shyly and then offering it outward my lady-love,
I could be heard to whisper in your ear..,

"I Love you"

JWS, 14 Feb 01 (Written for Cynthia on Valentines Day in place of a Solitary Rose I am unable to give her)

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