AUTUMN ROSE

A single full-blown rose
Blushes like a shy ballerina peeping through
Curtains of leaf green, looking for her lover.
The pale pink petals interweave
Like the folds of a gossamer gown;
She inclines her head as if in recognition
Of a ripple of polite applause,
As a gentle breeze rustles the long dry grass.
Then a flurry of papery leaves,
Already autumnal gold and brown,
Flutters round the delicate bloom
As if to guard a solemn secret she holds dear.
Like a lively corps de ballet
They dance around their queen
Then drift softly to the ground in quiet submission.

And I know that all too soon, alas,
This fragile, fragrant flower
Will surely shed these stately robes:
Just as all earthly things must pass.
And whilst I marvel at such beauty
So perfect in its sweet maturity,
A sparkling raindrop falls onto her velvet cheek
And rests there like a tiny tear;
Frail, fading foliage quivers in sorrow
As she sways and gracefully turns her head -
A prima ballerina dancing her final dance
On a theatre’s empty stage.
I see the first precious petal float silently down,
And with sadness and love, I remember my Mother -
My Mother, Rose.