Soliloquy of the Rose



Subtle as the Orient,
touched with musk
and midnight gardens,
my fragrance lingers
in evening air,
leaving a wisp of memory
as women do
who walk through spellbound rooms
trailing when they go
a delicate perfume
that lingers like the afterglow
of day, a wake of light
before the moon appears.

And if there is no one here,
no one to care
when lovely women pass
as roses do,
then who shall grieve?
Perhaps some wandering bee may sense
an absence in the grass, some shift
or difference in the wind,
but sorrow does not exist for me.
I cannot weep for love or loss.

Though time strips away
roses, seasons, all loveliest things,
these for me are naught;
for beauty knows no seasons, is unaware
of moons that come or go.
Enough, to sway in summer storm.
Enough, to hold the trembling rain.
Joy is all I know.

Sue Scalf
http://www.members.aol.com/poetscalf