The rosebush

There's a rosebush in the garden I pass every day Where the scent flows out saying, “Please, please stay”, It attaches itself to my woollen garment

And will not leave go until I gently disarm it.

This bush has a history going back many years

Growing alongside our children, now, alongside theirs, It’s been gently held and ever so softly kissed By young gentle hands and eager young lips.

It listens very quietly to the secrets of the young

Never discussing or disclosing any romantic outcome,

Its roots are old but its flowers are still young Making sprays and bouquets for the weddings to come.

Moving down the aisle in the arms of the bride

They deploy their scent with ever loving pride,

The congregation adores this beautiful sight

Of a bouquet of roses and a bride in white.

Standing next to the rose bush enjoying its scent

Its roots deep in history, its energy now spent,

Is it time for some surgery and a little T.L.C.

Then bloom once again for young eyes to see.

Albert Armstrong, via email.