They grew south in the orchard
Along the field-ditch,
Just across from the old mulberry:

I remember well the thorns
Like slivers in my fingers,
The tangle of underground stems,

The simple pink blossoms
At the end of school,
And a tart, seedy autumn harvest.

And too, they grew south
Along the fence beside the road,
Not far from Grandma's house.

And there once as my parents left,
Somehow broken-hearted, I cried
Until they came back and took me Home.

An odd day now it truly is,
When I don't leave this old place,
Passing by those same roses,

Those first, long gone to "progress,"
The remaining, now a living memory--
Childhood portent, perhaps of Home.

07/25/2008

Author's Note: On an odd day walking beside the roses

Posted on 07/26/2008
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes