The First
Roses unattended soon grow wild.
I dance, beguiled, among them summer nights
in the half moon's light that holds my heart awake.
Their perfume makes me dizzy as I spin.
I often think the roses dance with me.
The air I breathe grows heavy as they sway.
Not bound by day's demands they are reborn;
Yet they grow thorns, lest I should grow too dear.
But I will dance. I'll spin the evening long
and sing the songs of small imprisoned birds
and whisper words by light that mocks the sun's
...and prick my thumbs on roses growing wild.
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