Remembering Her
in soft susurrations
and lofty aberrations,
a special specimen
spills out spontaneously,
the wan white winter rose
has withered and wilted,
but its petals wrap themselves
around arousing aromas,
the chosen bits lay frozen
under the glow of snow,
in an eerie, dreary,
ghastly, ghostly graveyard,
where silence sweeps
through weeping willows,
and cawing ravens croak
their curses rambunctiously,
winter honeysuckle climbs
in clusters near the cracked wall,
which some forgotten Pharisee
has planted for its fragrance,
bare twisted, twined branches
of wild wisteria beckon,
uncanny, uncared for tombstones
tell of their travails
to tall, tattered, tired trees,
listening listlessly, lustrelessly,
leaflessly and lifelessly...
a crackling and a rustling,
someone is bustling,
he goes straight to one gloomy tomb,
the cemetery comes alive,
awakened after hibernation,
sniffing the whiff of something different,
he spends time, cleaning the grime,
clearing his cherished love's sepulchre,
and places there a pleasant,
perfume-giving, pale piece ~
a single, white rose
~ her favourite fetish
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