The simple smell of a rose
creates a miracle of memories.
Thorns penetrating a childs finger or
The suprisingly sweet smell of its perfume
as that first valentine gift arrives.
A nervous bride all in white
shyly grasps delicate buds
while somewhere, anniversarys approach
their sensual fragrance in the air again
Hospital wards carpeted in colour,
hold more petals than faces.
The ripe red rose on your grave
still sweet to the senses,
conjures a vision of happines,
your life, for all there to see.