Then the roses were beautiful but sparse
The year when I became aware of their being
Spring made us link and converse
Even though it was April the poetry did not flow
My head would hang with weight like the bloom
I tried but could not shake the heavy gloom

Pain and depression made the years murky
The roses were sepia their perfume stale
I passed them by in ignorance , in a trance
They kept calling for a pat , an embrace
But the years were little soldiers marching on
While I watched wasted petals shiver and die

Then I saw dewdrops stringed on cobwebs
Stain-glass in dappled sunlight among greens
Now the roses are heady, musky and many
This April the poems will easily flow
With color and scent , now that spring is here
I can forget past heartaches and unknown fear

                          © Lalarukh Lasharie




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