Garden of Poetry

Roses Pink

  Roses pink are the sign of my morning,
Symbols of hope for the new-waking day,
  Both a greeting of peace and dire warning,
That all things pure and precious pass away.
  What is death if we know a day of life?
What is loss if we love but an hour?
  All the heavy hurt of our mortal strife,
Redeemed by the blossoms of a flower!
  How fragile are the petals of being!
How weakly clings the dew upon the leaves!
  How fleeting is this sight I am seeing,
For soon this tender moment wilts and grieves!
 
    The thorns and tendrils of impending death
    Magnify the worth of each fragrant breath!

~ Daniel F Mitchell