Quiet flows no sun. Or was it "son" I meant to say?
One prays in the morning for each to unbend into life.
The woman who appears uncombed to shout atop a long
Open balustrade of white, yellow, red and pale-apricot roses.
I have never heard a rose shout. When stepped on
The odor released is said to be "the order of forgiveness."
When stepped on, as inevitable, may I breathe roses, and you, too,
And your son and/or daughter, fresh petals, crowns among thorns.
Stephen Vincent
|