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Oh red roses, how passionately arranged your bouquet of love stands
Filling space with your ominous presence and tantalizing scent.
The typist waits beside you for more soul whispers.
Awe…babies breath interspersed and intermingled in a pure white vessel.
In simple landscapes pure hearts of innocence sing.
Returning to timeless suspension in the field of white roses.
So deeply mysterious and comforting to her
Rhythm set, keys tapping…worn, not old soul slowly releases.
Nestled nurturance permeates this sacred place
Where perennial dance scores for life are birthed
Footling’s and Moms in red tents of old
Suspended breathless in fields of white roses.
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