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Yesterday, rose bushes called to
me, and I picked
up lopping shears to trim their growth. Surprisingly,
the thorns didn’t prick my skin when
I gathered the cut
branches to mulch them.
The red rose bush trimmed, I turned
to the yellow climber
and relieved her of her dead
weight, removed the bind
weed that strangled her, and watched
her lift new buds to
the sky. One bud sits here.
In my tower with open windows, I
enjoy her scent.
I shortened her life when I took
her in for me
alone—into my short tower, into
my small
home. Yet, she helps me sing.
Thank you, Mother earth, for this ground, this joy, this grace
as I, imperfect, harm you a little less than before, as I try
to share you with those who have no gardens. Please take these
tiny notes as true. I love you.
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
If you quote, credit this page.
© 2020 Susan L. Chast
This poem could not be sweeter. The rose that helps you sing........"Please take these tiny notes as true." Beautiful. So happy to read it this afternoon, my friend.
ReplyDeleteI love your song of gratitude to Mother. I sometimes cut a rose while feeling that tinge of guilt for wanting to enjoy her all to myself inside, selfishly though grateful that I can steal her beauty. I think/hope Mother understands my human frailty as I try to understand her magnificence.
ReplyDeleteThis makes me think of my mother's rose garden--so much love, both given and taken away.
ReplyDeleteTiny notes are the closest we can get to true - one flower, indoors, apart from the wide wild garden, as totem, familiar and muse. What better love song than that recognition? - Brendan
ReplyDeleteYou give the roses new life with your care, and they return the compliment. I can feel the love in this song.
ReplyDeleteThe small rose that helps you sing, sometimes we need that tiny note to keep us in harmony.
ReplyDeleteA sweet love song to Mother Earth indeed, which reminds me of my grandfather’s garden – he was so proud of his roses.
ReplyDelete