Who stole your scented memories <br />pot-pourri’s of your youth with <br />vacant promises – a charlatan <br />a superficial swain with wisdom <br />urging platitudes you should <br />believe in beds of blooming roses <br /> <br />The blooms shall wilt more <br />quickly than the dust can gather <br />scent will fade before the fragile <br />petals lose their colour – even drops <br />of fragrant oil cannot engender <br />dying blooms to rise again <br /> <br />Phantom forms pretend in ravaged beds <br />embraced by brittle thorns and blighted <br />leaves of pruned and trenchant covenants <br />pallid petals rust in aromatic pots amidst <br />an endless trust of odds and ends that <br />matter like the photo frames contain <br />a past we nearly missed together <br /> <br />So come with me my love ascend <br />to watch the shadows lengthen <br />on this special day <br />lie reposed and reminisce on pillows <br />stuffed with petal blooms and be <br />amazed our marriage bed is still <br />a bed of blooming roses <br />© 2 October 2009, I. D. Carswell<br /><br />Ivan Donn Carswell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bed-of-roses-8/
