Who stole your scented memories
pot-pourri’s of your youth with
vacant promises – a charlatan
a superficial swain with wisdom
urging platitudes you should
believe in beds of blooming roses
The blooms shall wilt more
quickly than the dust can gather
scent will fade before the fragile
petals lose their colour – even drops
of fragrant oil cannot engender
dying blooms to rise again
Phantom forms pretend in ravaged beds
embraced by brittle thorns and blighted
leaves of pruned and trenchant covenants
pallid petals rust in aromatic pots amidst
an endless trust of odds and ends that
matter like the photo frames contain
a past we nearly missed together
So come with me my love ascend
to watch the shadows lengthen
on this special day
lie reposed and reminisce on pillows
stuffed with petal blooms and be
amazed our marriage bed is still
a bed of blooming roses
© 2 October 2009, I. D. Carswell
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