August.txt

Author: Drew Morris
Written: 15-05-2022

As I walked the riverside
with amber rain amidst me
Peaking 'neath rusted leaves
a Rose rests by the tree
I wade through Autumn's tide
My thermos, filled with tea
I water it; she breathes
my shoulder rests her head
We talk for hours 'neath the oak.
She speaks with song so sweet
Soon the sun begins its set
so too, must this retreat
But my Rose, she had awoke
to wilt upon the street?
No, a gardner I'll become instead,
as I carry us on my feet.
As I return home,
I plant her with warm embrace
and as she grows, I watch in awe
in her beauty in that place
The dew kissing her tender plumes
Her stalk glowing with grace
I lean and then I fall
and wither without trace.
And as my eyes fade,
into the soil I sink.
My ears know not a love from shade.
Thoughts, I no longer think.
And though, a garder I am not,
my Rose, she grows: so brave.
Freed of ink, her roots have fought
to free me from the grave.