At the edge,
a rose
sighs
the last brilliant rays
of summer…
The air has chilled,
the sunsets glow
fire orange
as my feet take me
‘round and around
the pink petaled velvet
memories
of innocence,
of a softness
the settles into my heart
where the folds
of desire
whisper a longing,
as my days grow shorter
and time
seems to run
like a child into her father’s arms
and the world
is safe
as petals begin to fall
one by one
into the palm of my hand,
open,
like the rose before me,
a gesture
of faith,
a
mystery
unfolding…
Lea Goode-Harris
September 7, 2005