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I woke long before he did,
quietly slipped from his side
and donned his warm woolen robe.

As difficult as 'twas to leave him,
to have awakened him—
I'd never have been able
to leave his bed.

This morning, what I sought
was not his heart to please,
but what I saw in a dream
that held me captive until I woke.

And now, I had to see for myself
if the vision that stirred me in sleep
was in truth where I knew it would be.

Quietly, I stirred the fire 
to keep warm his bedroom
now that my body would not warm his.

Down the wide stairway treads, 
I tiptoed to the door leading to his garden.
Snow had lightly fallen o'er night
and everything within sight
had been covered with crystals of frost.

I felt as if I was lost in a wonderland,
but only for a moment
for I had to find what my dream rendered.
I surrendered to the need to see
what my reverie urged me to seek—
the last rose of summer.

Petals, once velvet to my touch
had fallen from other flowers
and lie frozen on the walkways—
their color faded and gone, all but one.

Through the archway, I walked to find her,
still in bloom but in the sullen gloom
of this chilled hoarfrost morn,
I mourned for her as she stood alone.

I sat on the bench nearest her,
a tear caught in the corner of my eye 
threatening to fall. A sigh
escaped my lips as I reached
to touch her with a fingertip
but feared I'd be the cause of
her demise if my touch broke her.

I felt his warm hands on my shoulders,
but not a word did he need speak.
He sat beside me and at last, 
warms tears ran down my cheeks.

It was the last rose of summer in my dream.
How quickly time had flown from bud to bloom
and now she was withered, near her end.
Her blush, once beautiful—
had paled and soon she would fall 
to the garden soil— still beautiful to me.

Her kindred companions had met their demise
but to life she clung, alone except for me
and the man who quietly sat by my side.
I had no desire to hide anything from him—

He led me inside and back to bed,
for he knew I dreaded seeing the moment she fell
among the dropped petals of her sisters.
Beside me he stayed, as sleep closed my eyes.
This man, who knew me so well—
the garden keeper; keeper of my heart.


*With apologies to Thomas Moore
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