On this day, when tricky time
Has already turned love into wry rust,
When forgetting dominates
Bits- and -pieces remembering,
I forget you like I forget my red rose,
Standing alone , old and gnarled
At the far end of my yard,
Its leaves more blighted than green,
Its twigs more stunted than straggly,
Its butterflies more fitful than flit-ful.
But when I remember, it is like
Its rare , single bloom overpowering
Me with its same old fragrance
Into a spasm of fond recognition..
19 Jun 12
For SKAT's contest, 'Old romantic poems'