The Rose Beyond my Wall
The beauty I had overlooked
In my haste to get things done--
Another took the time to see
In the wash of morning sun.
The rose that grew beyond my wall...
I think scarlet was her hue--
How sad I failed to notice her
For all I had to do.
Yet all the things I did that day,
So important and so grand--
I cannot smell, or lightly touch,
Or hold with either hand.
The rose, conversely, lingers on
In the wise man's memory--
Never but a thought away,
Should he take the time to see.
Copyright © Mel Merrill | Year Posted 2014