Pale Pink Roses

By Marlas Whitley

My eyes are drawn to some lowly bushes afar off
They sit, planted
Wanting more
They looked parched and slightly
Sun kissed leaves, really
But slightly
I come over to the lowly bushes
Wanting more
And begin to remember
For dainty, pale pink roses are scattered
Here and there
And I think of dark rooms in spite
Of the sunshine streaming in through
High and watery windows
And the deep end of the lake where
You leap slowly into space
And wooden floors with some sort of finish
And you don’t want to continue to the kitchen
The Sunday dress with satin and lace
Matching straw boater with
Fake blue pansies and baby’s breath
And the most delicate
Pristine gloves covering soulful hands
These soulful hands with a fix
To pick and tattle and take
In every sensation
From the pale, pink rose’s petals