Earth dreams where no moon glows.
Heat throbs on my skin. I cannot complain
that the rose has gone while perfume gentles
the beating air.
All my quiet day the sun shook
hot in the garden’s heart where blooms
played out their tone over the lawn,
where bees moved.
Thorns are fierce when shadows thicken
and veil my sight. The rose? Ah, the rose!
Night holds its form from budding to dropping
and light is not lost.
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