WHERE PETALS FLOAT

WHERE PETALS FLOAT   Ann June 27th 2010.

Where roses float their petals on the stream,

their notes of pink and yellow, 

their mellow thoughts so softly 

ride the sheen of water flowing,

over weir and waterfall;

so gently speaks the nymph of nature's breath, 

not even death can steal the fire,

from her strange and beautiful life 

of dramas both good and bad, to us; 

we dream, and send our messages of love

on streams like this, written as memories

of summer's simple warmth and bloom, 

when blushed with colour we too have our hour; 

to sail along, its meadows either side

where flowers grow and hide the less attractive 

sides of vistas, where the dew knows knots

and fancied pains, the loam dark black;

the roots of trees like snakes,

roam corridors unseen, deep deep deep down, 

the whole achieved before sundown, and back

to normal what is that, don't ask, 

its where and when and if we are, just that.