Arose

she

at

magenta

sunrise,

just after

twinkling bouquets

faded.

The summer damask rose

shimmered

in an

old cut glass

vase

beside her bed.

He always

left one

waiting there.

She thought of

that other day,

fifty-two summers ago,

when her

now-snow-headed

sweetheart

knelt on one knee,

and asked

what he already

knew the answer to:

Will you?

I will.

Every morning,

The yes of

Whimsy and joy,

wafting among quotidian

moments,

Lovers lasting

Aroma.

Outside the

bay window,

roseate puffs

proposed,

flushing the face

of craggy young Rockies.

Alpenglow blush:

Two beauties

dancing to dawn’s delight,

on the ice-fringed

alpine lake,

alongside

two

old

mountain roses.

Lane M. Arnold

© May 2012