by Mercedes Webb-Pullman
Her letter said 'Your yellow rose
covered the end of the shed
and climbed up onto the roof.
The dark red scented one near the drive
ran down the fence to the street.
Best rose season in years.”
All through the drought I'd kept them alive,
rationed water carefully, caught shower waste
and turned my skin to petals.
When I left, the rain started.
It hasn't stopped yet.
2 comments:
beautiful poem!
Wow I like this. Rain and roses, and regret.
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