These summer roses
bloom much fuller after spring showers;
and the frigid days soon give way
to happy sunny hours.
Hours compared to days,
seem brief and vapid;
and against the rest weighed,
cold comfort of a sort.
Hours far spent and too short
for my liking;
but perhaps I know not best;
and what remains is the rest:
restful, tearless, eternal shining.
Seeing the rose these last times –
like an old friend well met,
like a new book just read,
like a clear day just dawned,
like a dark secret rerevealed –
seeing these last times,
has been a goodness unsought,
and a gift unbought.
So, who am I to refuse gifts
when given so freely?
I pluck the rose
bring it to my nose,
and breathe deeply.
Seeing these last few times…
I saw some things – better scenes
when seen with reasoned rhyme.
My vision once drearer – now clearer, now keen –
Before, I saw in symbols – thankless signs.
I see now, for I see now, with thanks aligned.
Now I see more nimble; now I see design.
I saw before; the first few times, I saw, I wept.
I hold now; yet I give more; For
others have the things I kept –
in giving, I have much more;
In keeping, I had less.
I look now upon words; words step
off pages – pages once forsaken.
I sing now; I sing in songs accepted.
I choose now; I take chances taken.
Before, I could not sleep; except
to sleep away the light.
But I dream now, and the last few nights
I dreamed, I slept.