Roses often line up my memories

Perfuming my virgin nights,

As I gently touch the soft petals

Of roses that lined my garden wall.

I recall the summers, when waking late from my slumber

I darted towards the rose bed , still yawning

To greet them good morning,

Though the sun shone right above the awning.

Touching with finger tips, the petals of silk,

slightly furled, like frilly frocks up- turned ,

Secretly, I admired their sartorial elegance,

that often deluged my nascent mind with passion.

As rosy dreams coalesced in scented mist

The mysteries hidden within the furls, unfurled.

Disclosing the fate of the royal rose

which in its full bloom , is selectively plucked

And for its essence, mercilessly crushed.

Its shape and colour completely altered,

As tiny droplets it succumbs.

Filling the space of intriguing bottles.

Continues to spread its dulcet fragrance,

To leave others scented and exalted.

Many flowers in my life I saw

But from roses, a peculiar strength I draw,

remembering my grandfather

tending them with hands raw.

Who taught me that roses , their essence they retain,

No matter how powerful or debilitating the change.