Nancy L. Meek

CHERISHED ROSES

Maria’s Roses
Photo ©Copyright February 2007 by Anthony W. Pahl OAM
Rolling hills, dotted with tulips,
cotton-ball clouds on a sea of blue,
twittering larks… totally clueless,
and a babbling brook winding through;
a midday sun just warm enough
to bare your limbs awhile,
to lay you back… close your eyes
and coax your lips into a smile.

As pent-up anger, stress and pain
seep slowly from your soul,
fragrant roses bloom again
to scent the welcome whole…
all bound to push foul thoughts of war
deep down where they belong
not daring to advance, to mar
their beauty or their song.

The ache of them, a sweet duet
to a need for peace at last
from Night Mares roiling, sweat
relentless, galloping from the past,
where rolling hills pocked with blood
of friends made fast… then lost
leave you staring at the wood,
to count the senseless cost.

It was a war you couldn’t win
or defend when you came home,
as you sensed that where you’d been
would move you hence to roam
the scenes within your mind
that time and space ignores,
all those you left behind
still cherished forevermore…

their friendships warm enough
to bare your heart awhile,
to lay you back… close your eyes
and coax your lips into a smile,
all bound to push foul thoughts of war
deep down where they belong
not daring to advance, to mar
their beauty or their song.