September - that Rose
I’m deadheading that last rose,
The pink one, that left a trail of petals across
A once green, for a while pink, now soggy, untamed lawn that just grows.
The rose whose generous fragrance fills, almost taunts
My senses as I breathe in the beautiful bouquet.
Now I sit, nearby. Sipping another favourite pink; rosé wine from Provence.
Fallen dying petals, though once perfect, cannot be froze.
But I’ll never forget that image, the colour, the perfume, the delight.
What beauty. What a bloom. What a rose!
So I sit and dream and remember and think. Too much I think.
I might even be contemplating – definitely: contemplating.
Please God, don’t let my spirits sink.
I consider; hurricane, tropical storms, tidal surges, wreaking havoc.
I ruminate; chewing over missile launches, nations flexing their muscles.
I speculate; improvised explosive devices - humanity running amuck.
Is the world out of control, so called civilisation about to collapse?
Chaos and hunger, illness, poverty and strife.
Where is my God in all this, He seems silent? Perhaps!
Definitely, I think too much. Does He care, can He heal our excess?
Will justice be done, the wrongs righted, illness cured?
I know deep down the answer - it is undeniably yes.
Still I consider, I ruminate, I speculate – just what is Your plan?
Should I despair, dread, doubt, fear? Fear the consequences of our actions?
Or even fear You, fear the creator of man?
And the fragrance wafts back. I may have had a discreet doze!
Now I’m wide awake, alert: I rejoice remembering the truth:
How can I fear God, who made the rose.
The pink one, that left a trail of petals across
A once green, for a while pink, now soggy, untamed lawn that just grows.
The rose whose generous fragrance fills, almost taunts
My senses as I breathe in the beautiful bouquet.
Now I sit, nearby. Sipping another favourite pink; rosé wine from Provence.
Fallen dying petals, though once perfect, cannot be froze.
But I’ll never forget that image, the colour, the perfume, the delight.
What beauty. What a bloom. What a rose!
So I sit and dream and remember and think. Too much I think.
I might even be contemplating – definitely: contemplating.
Please God, don’t let my spirits sink.
I consider; hurricane, tropical storms, tidal surges, wreaking havoc.
I ruminate; chewing over missile launches, nations flexing their muscles.
I speculate; improvised explosive devices - humanity running amuck.
Is the world out of control, so called civilisation about to collapse?
Chaos and hunger, illness, poverty and strife.
Where is my God in all this, He seems silent? Perhaps!
Definitely, I think too much. Does He care, can He heal our excess?
Will justice be done, the wrongs righted, illness cured?
I know deep down the answer - it is undeniably yes.
Still I consider, I ruminate, I speculate – just what is Your plan?
Should I despair, dread, doubt, fear? Fear the consequences of our actions?
Or even fear You, fear the creator of man?
And the fragrance wafts back. I may have had a discreet doze!
Now I’m wide awake, alert: I rejoice remembering the truth:
How can I fear God, who made the rose.