20 of 122

by Jan Stribley

The Last Rose

THE blazing midday sun beats down upon the southern town.
The air is still, the sky deep blue, it's quiet all around.
Too hot to move, a dog groans deep while sleeping in the shade.
The schoolyard's bare, the dust is settled
where the children played.
BEN, the gardener slowly moves to rake the piles of grass.
He mops his brow, relieved to know
that summer's almost passed.
Then in the corner of the yard he spies a glorious sight.
A deep red rose, atop a bush, so colorful and bright.
THE leaves are gone, the bush is gnarled,
her petals full arrayed,
Yet now with summer's heat her crimson pageantry must fade.
He smiles to see this beauty, and he pauses, for he knows
With Autumn just around the bend,He's viewing
the last rose.

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Poetry: Roses

by Jan Stribley

Poetry: Roses

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