by H.D.
Rose, harsh rose,
marred and with stint of petals,
meagre flower, thin,
sparse of leaf,
More precious
than a wet rose
single on a stem --
you are caught in the drift.
Stunted, with small leaf,
you are flung on the sand,
you are lifted
in the crisp sand
that drives in the wind.
Can the spice-rose
drip such acrid fragrance
hardened in a leaf?
1 comment:
I like when the disregarded is lauded - just as you've done here with the faithful winch.
And the poem about the rose fits - strange, but true. Who woulda thunk? (Well... apart from you!) My you have a knack for the fit of word to image.
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