Seven Pink Roses

Upon an old cottage window-sill Within a white chipped vase Seven pale roses droop, Pensively looking at the stars; The Pleiades, the “Seven Sisters” Burn faintly up in the sky And cast just a little light Upon roses about to die, Yet, those radiant glowing stars Stirred a warmth within The heart of each one Like a pulse beneath ones skin Animating a strong urge, A need to often look to Stars of a deep blue fire; Thus, that night they pulled through. Now they share an affinity Not previously felt before, And a keener sense of purpose Their influence did restore; A fresher, greener hue Pervades each crinkled leaf And no longer is there black gloom Or an air of outright grief; Now each uplifted head Seems to show a glow Of utter contentment The kind that loved ones know.