Thursday, November 15, 2007

In my garden...


If life is a garden
Then friendships are trees
Oak and Spruce, Maple and Pine
Friends of many shapes and different kinds

The rings of our tree grow many
And through many winters it has survived
Water is carried to leaves by complex lines
Telephone bills and post office lines
There is nothing I would trade it for
Oak, Spruce, Maple or Pine
The rings of our tree grow many
And an aged tree does not easily die.


If life is a garden
Then love is a rose
Beautiful and Breath-taking
Yet piercing is the thorn

Loves I have had
But a thorn you have been
The rose has bloomed
The rose has blossomed
But never has it been plucked
No, never plucked for my beloved’s vase
For fear of the piercing
For fear of the painful distaste
The petals fall and the rose fades
For by the prick of the thorn
Oh, by the prick I’ve been detained


I love the trees
And a rose is most beautiful
But as far as I can know
The two, together, do not grow
Oh, how I wish to plant them together
To enjoy the tree’s shade
And to bask in the beauty of the rose
But, oh, together they will not grow!
Some days I wish to cut the tree and plant the rose
But if it never blooms
If it never blossoms
It will take years for the tree to again grow strong


Today I will plant the rose.
Although I know others will grow, you will always be the thorn.
I will plant the rose!
But when I come for the plucking
Will I be pricked by your thorn?
Pricked by your thorn to bleed to my death?
Or will I carry this rose to your vase?
Carry this rose to your vase and take away your breath?

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