The Rose ......

20 Feb 2019

BPF
A single rose upon the ground?
So fresh it looks, who laid it there?
Why a rose beside the path?
In driving snow I stand and stare.

Now the wind blows bitter chill …..
The rooks I hear above the trees;
A single rose lying there?
Their cries instil a great unease.

So cold I am - and worried too,
Back I stumble through the sludge;
But why a rose? - it haunts my mind,
As down the icy lane I trudge.

A gas lamp dimly lights my way,
Past the church, through the snow;
In the tavern so warm and snug,
In hand a pint of Castle brew.

The rose no longer troubles me,
So back towards my home I stroll;
The freezing wind still numbs my face;
It cuts right through to heart and soul.

I hear again the rooks above,
Round and round they scream and screech;
They fill my mind with fear and dread,
“Return! Return!” they now beseech.

So back along the lane I tramp,
And up the hill, my steps retrace;
What about the rose so fresh,
That all my lucid thoughts displace?

And there, I see, kneeling down,
Beside the rose, a boy so young;
Up he looks and smiles at me,
But in his smile a verse unsung….

So surprised I look away,
Then back I glance – no longer there;
Who was this boy beside the rose?
A boy I’ve seen before, I swear.

He’s left a note beside the rose,
I pick the paper up to read;
In my hand , and writing so neat,
What is this, that’s so decreed?

“’Tis John le M…. resting here,
“His life so blest and loving too,
Three-score and eight was he……”
My age and name -‘tis true!

The rose now lies shrivelled and dead……
“Three-score and eight in age, no more;
And on this spot his life he shed,
In Jan’ry 1894.”

‘In my hand’ refers to hand-writing – as the subject of the poem recognises the writing in the note.

Rhyming

Philosophical

3

0

BPF

Love creativity - especially writing - poems especially. Love my wife, cats, our church, reading, warm weather (so rare here!) and snow - quite common these days - even in spring....

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