He came and filled my room with roses,
Not seeing that I was there.
His labor over and done,
He opened the door and was gone.

I lay on my bed, not moving,
While the roses stood around.
I closed my eyes and smelled their scent—
In it came and out it went.

He came again and stood o’er me,
I saw the tears roll down his face.
He placed a dozen roses upon my chest,
Then stumbled out the door to let me rest.

I lay on my bed and couldn’t move,
The roses’ beauty dimmed.
I had seen the sorrow on his face
And knew that Death had frozen me in place.

(Honorable Mention, World of Poetry Contest, December 1984)


One Response to “Roses”

  1. This one won an honorable mention in a ‘World of Poetry’ competition during the 1980s, it’s one of my oldest poems. This was written in the mid 1980s not long after attending the funeral of one of my cousins who was killed in a terrible motorcycle crash. Being young myself, themes of death were particularly frightening, and it brought back memories of a friend that had died a few years earlier as a teen that, at the time, I had yet to come to terms with.

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