The Queen’s Roses

In the garden outside my door

the roses are sweeter than ever before.

I take a second to stop and smell,

the scent of childhood I know so well.

Years past the roses would bloom, and lift my spirit full of gloom.

My mother would place them in a vase, but only for a day would the beauty last.

Like a rose my mother’s soul,

brillant colors of crimson and gold.

© Lori Leigh Riddles 1999

 

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