The scent of wild roses

Originally published on August 8, 2005 in Poetry


 

The scent of wild roses

He will never forget
the scent of wild roses
that she wore in her hair
on the night he first kissed
her finger tips
her eyes
her lips.

and the moon will never
shine more Autumn golden
will never illuminate
one more beautiful
than she.
Her midnight hair cascading like a veil
her velvet eyes gazing to the sea.

And where she stood
and where her naked feet
made prints
in blood red sand
he will carry
in his memory
forever and eternity.

Until his last breath
he will gaze up on
that vision of ethereal beauty;
his bridge between worlds
his fragile link
between the state of
what we are and what we think.

No silken gown
will flow more lovingly
over softly yielding skin.
No one will love him
more purely than she.
No one will adore her
more deeply than he.

In future time
when he returns, lonely, to this place
and touches the cold stone
that does not bear
the imprint of her hand,
he will close his eyes a moment
to see her standing there
the taste of wine upon her lips
wild roses in her hair.

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Sweetwater

You have created a vivid picture with those strong images, I could feel the cold of the stone, and see her midnight hair. sue.

Ionicus

It is a brilliant poem, Chrissy, which was quite rightly ‘nibbed’ when originally posted. I fail to see why it hasn’t been similarly picked now considering that other re-writes/re-posts have received accolades.
Best wishes, Luigi
P.S. I would like, if I may, quote part of a comment given at the time by our friend Sunken:
“If it were up to me I would not only give you the nib, I’d give you the whole bloody pen. They are so miserly around here. Top write.”

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