A

A Rose

Sitting

As the morning goes

A cameo rose

Captured ‘neath glass

And guilt-gilt frame

The lattice work window pane

Obscures all to passers by

And after noon

The senses swoon

And memory’s faltering tread

Takes her again

Retracing the places

And the faces fade

As the light of day

Even in the evening

She sits

And orange light from the road

Goads her on to imagine

She is young again, a bright young thing

In a flowered gown, admirers drift

In and out of her

Consciousness – each one

A temptation

To fall to, if only she had just once

Said yes

Night night comes

The traffic almost ceases

Night night comes

The wrinkles and the creases sigh

And she hauls herself to bed

Past the long oval mirror

A vase