These Last Times

by CWK

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.