Yellow Roses

~from Through the Trees, Chapter 2: Anger

You have spoiled the seeds that you buried

With trample and flood at your feet,

And though we grew with fury,

Our scents could never be sweet.

Our crooked stems extend with angst,

You played with our petals too long,

We’ve become tangled and interlaced

Our moment of perfect plucking is gone.

For who would want a stem so bent—

Unsuitable for the shape of any vase

So here we are un-plucked with discontent,

Writhing with the sun on our face.

Shall we be your yellow roses,

Releasing all our petals to you

To be gathered in gnarly poesies

Or left to wilt into a bed of Rue?

Rooted in hardened clay

Our garden in need of tending

Petals on the wind seem at play,

But they are just pretending.

And when the blossom dies

Neither flower nor bud to find,

All will be heard is the gardener’s cries

From the piercing of thorns left behind.

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© 2014 Nina C Palmer. All rights reserved