Buying A Rose.
..on my way home ...I stopped to buy ...
A rambling rose to cover a new arch I’d made of wood...
Red Rose I said...from France.... that is my mood .
Fragrant old red..as deep as liquorice.
My voice a little raw from lack of sleep...
The flow of Bacchus still running in my blood
Those tell tale glassy eyes with early morning stars
Left over from the night
...forgive my party clothes I said ...at 9am
He stood like some strange Priest
Neat hair around his ears..large nose of Burgundy.
He did not notice me or my attire
Responding with indifference to my horticultural desires..
By chanting out a sermon learned by heart
Delivered in a strange and Dandy voice... clipped... to the point...
The price...the light, the shade , the time of year.
.....his teeth were tombs within the chapel of his mouth.
His ears like horns stuck out from either cheek
The Zephirine Drouhin..rose of the Week
Zeph-e-reen Dru-heen’s the rose for you
No thorns....It will reward you every time you pass.
A thornless Turkish Breeze in ‘ luscious pink.’ !
I need some of pulsing red along my arch
Like Red Pierre ..a wanderer in the night..
With pent up roots exploding in the soil..
My voice trailed off beneath the ice cold look
I bought the ‘luscious pink’
Drove home and and went to bed.
Kristine Byrne..re written from the original.. June 2013