I Pressed a Rose
I pressed a rose
taken from the bouquet of lavender,
a dozen scented budding and flowering
fragrance rising in the warm spring sun.
Strange to think that these you did not see
when roses were flowers you pressed easily.
Once they were yellow, friendship hinted bonds
that slipped to floral pink shades with time
and in the later years, the crimson red
bulged blossoms of love.
The service said it all
my tears in the silence freely falls
as these last years stretched out
and your silent acceptance bared your pain.
Time and age are indecipherable
as we each played our roles
and all the dreams and experiences
framed us into who we are, were.
Baby's breath and lavender roses pale and dry
in a last kiss goodbye and farewell
while the very bonds of love
remain forever tied.
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